


Storming the Castle

by courtingstars (FallingSilver)



Series: A Spark of Light (AkaFuri) [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Akashi Family Angst Ahoy, Akashi Masaomi's A+ Parenting, Bokushi Has All The Snark, Brief Implied MidoTaka, Disney References, Dysfunctional Family and Emotional Neglect, Everyone is a Hopeless Dork, Fairy Tales, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Furihata's Family is the Best, I Watched Too Many Disney Movies to Prepare For This, Japanese Culture, M/M, Meet the Family, Now With Bokushi, RIP Furihata, Still The Slowest Burn, Summer in Japan, Warning: This Gets a Little Spooky, Yukimaru Is A Spoiled Horse, attempts at humor, oblivious dorks in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-10 23:56:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 58,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8944471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingSilver/pseuds/courtingstars
Summary: "Once upon a time, there stood a plain little house..."

  "Once upon a time, there stood a magnificent castle..." 
When Furihata invites Akashi to spend the night at his house, Akashi is at a loss. He’s never had such a close friend before. But when he decides to repay Furihata in kind, a series of unexpected events leaves them both questioning if their friendship might be something more complicated.





	1. The Opposite of a Fairy Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I'm kind of shocked that I'm posting the first chapter already... Thank you so much to all the awesome Fast Train readers who were looking forward to the next story! Your support has been so motivating for me, and I honestly can't thank you enough. And hello to any new readers out there! This fic is part of a series, but you can read it by itself too. I really hope you enjoy it.
> 
> (I'm posting this as a multi-chapter fic, but it's also like a two-part novella, in some ways. For more notes about the format, updates, and some Japanese cultural notes, you can check out [my Tumblr](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/tagged/kat%20writes%20fanfic).)

_Once upon a time, there stood a plain little house, and inside this plain house lived a family to match. A family of four, they were all as ordinary as could be. Or so they seemed._

_For all through the humble rooms and the narrow halls and even the tiny garden outside, the house was held together with one of the most powerful spells in the world. But the spell was so simple, that even though the family used it every day with one another, they did not recognize its true power._

_Indeed, they did not know it was a kind of magic at all._

* * *

_Bzzzzt! Bzzzzt! Bzzzzt!_

Furihata Kouki dreaded that sound, most of the time. He was so bad at talking on the phone. Something about the combination of trying not to sound like an idiot, and not being able to see the person who was calling, set every nerve in his body on edge.

Tonight, though, he was mostly just excited. A jolt of energy coursed through him, making his insides quiver and his heart jump around in his chest. He scrambled to his phone, and beamed when he saw the name on the caller ID.

Furihata had no idea why that name always made him feel like butterflies were dancing around inside his stomach. There was no reason to be so excited, really. He talked with this person all the time. Talking with a friend was supposed to feel normal. Maybe even boring. Right?

Then again, this wasn’t exactly a normal friendship.

Furihata took a deep breath, then answered the phone. “Hello?”

(Already he was tempted to roll his eyes at himself. “Hello”? When he already knew who was calling? Oh, well. It wasn’t like this person expected him to be smooth or anything.)

“Good evening, Furihata-kun,” said the calm, quiet voice on the other end. The voice of Akashi Seijuurou, second-year captain of Rakuzan. Somehow, Akashi could make even such a formal greeting sound warm and inviting. Furihata didn’t know how he did it.

“Hey, Akashi-kun.” Furihata’s smile widened, as he sank down onto his bed. It felt kind of strange to smile this hard, when no one could see him. “How’s it going?”

“I’m doing well, thank you,” Akashi said. Furihata wondered if he was smiling too. He had a way of sounding like it, over the phone. “And how are you?”

“Great!” Furihata said. “I mean, not that anything much is happening. But it’s nice that summer break is almost here.”

“I agree. I wanted to speak with you about that, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh. Yeah?” Furihata had a guess where Akashi was going with this. He wasn’t sure why it was causing another warm flutter in his stomach, though.

“I’m going to be in Tokyo soon, starting on Sunday. I was wondering if you’d like to spend some time together.”

 _YES, I WANT TO, I DEFINITELY WANT TO,_ said the weird voice in his head, the one that seriously needed to calm down. All Furihata said out loud was, “Yeah, sure! Did you have anything in mind?”

“Hmm, I hadn’t given it a great deal of thought. We could meet at the café in Shibuya. Or we could go somewhere else, if you like.”

Furihata nodded. In the past few months, they had met at that café a lot. He took Akashi there the first time they hung out in Tokyo. Usually, they would eat, then walk around downtown for a few hours and sit on a bench and people-watch. And talked, there was always lots of talking. (Akashi was surprisingly easy to talk to, once you got used to the fact that he was, you know, _Akashi_.)

One time they went to Ueno Zoo afterward, which was oddly fun—because guess what, animals were another thing that Akashi somehow knew everything about—and they even visited the gardens outside the Imperial Palace, back when the azaleas were blooming.

That last one would have felt strange with most people—who went to a garden to hang out?—but with Akashi, it felt natural. He was just the type of person who appreciated things like seasonal events and flowers. (Some of the azaleas were the exact same color as Akashi’s hair… Furihata wasn’t sure why he had noticed that. He got the feeling the other people in the garden did too. Then again, people stared at Akashi wherever he went.)

“Yeah, we could do that,” Furihata said, still thinking. “Maybe go to the arcade after. So you can beat all the games’ high scores again. On your first try. Somehow.”

A chuckle sounded on the other end of the phone. Akashi’s laugh was soft, musical. (Furihata didn’t know why he noticed that every single time.) He opened his mouth to joke about the fact that Akashi hadn’t denied it, when a thought occurred to him.

“Hey, actually,” he said, sitting up a bit straighter. “I was wondering… I mean, you don’t have to, but if you want, and have enough time… Th-that is, do you want to stay over or something?”

“Stay over?” Akashi repeated.

“Yeah. But if you think it’d be too weird—”

“Do you mean visit your home?” Akashi said. He sounded perplexed. Which was kind of odd, Furihata thought. Not really the reaction he had expected at all.

“Um, yeah,” he said. “You know. Spend the night?”

There was a slight pause. “Oh. I see.”

Normally, this would have made Furihata’s heart drop. He would have figured the person was trying to think of a nice way to say no. But this time, before he had the chance to feel awkward, he realized something.

“Akashi-kun, have you ever slept at a friend’s house before?” he said.

Another pause. “No, I can’t say I have.”

Now Furihata was smiling, in spite of himself. _So that’s why he was confused._

“Really?” he said. “I’m not allowed to do it that often, but it’s pretty fun. My mom said I could have a friend over during break, if I let her know a few days before… Uh, if you want to, that is! No pressure or anything.”

It took him a second to realize he was waving his hand, in an it’s-okay sort of way. To an empty room. Where no one could see it. (Because, duh, phone call.)

So he fiddled with his pillowcase instead. Bracing for a “no.” Because maybe Akashi didn’t want to, or wasn’t allowed, or didn’t have time…

“Well, in that case, I don’t see why not,” Akashi said. “Though I wouldn’t want to impose on you or your family.”

“Really?” Furihata couldn’t help sounding excited. “Yeah, don’t worry, it’s no problem. I’ll double-check with my mom, though.”

“Please do,” Akashi said.

“Sure thing.” Furihata couldn’t resist adding, “So, your first sleepover. Guess I should be honored, huh?”

(This might have been teasing. Not that Furihata would ever tease the great and powerful Akashi Seijuurou. Never.)

“Yes, I do hope you’ll roll out a red carpet, in anticipation of my glorious arrival,” Akashi said. Furihata had a strong suspicion he was rolling his eyes. “In all seriousness, what is one expected to bring on this sort of overnight visit?”

“Bring?” Furihata blinked. “Uh, pajamas, I guess. Whatever you like to sleep in. And a change of clothes for the next day, if you want.”

“Ah. That makes sense.”

“Oh, and a toothbrush, and stuff like that.”

“‘Stuff like that’?” There was an odd tapping sound on the other end of the call. “Could you be more specific?”

“Well, you know, for anything you do before bed, like brush your—” Furihata interrupted himself. “Wait. Are you writing all this down?”

“Possibly.” There was that tapping sound again. A pen against a desktop, Furihata guessed. “I assume that’s amusing in some way?”

Furihata tried not to snort. “Uh, nooo. Just out of curiosity, do you always make lists for stuff like this?”

“Not as a rule. Though it’s useful if I plan to reference something later.”

“Uh-huh.” Furihata grinned. “Look, Akashi-kun, don’t overthink it. It’s just a sleepover.”

“So you say. But as we’ve already discussed, I’ve never been to one.”

“Right. Well, if you forget something, you can always borrow it.” Furihata meant for this to be reassuring. He doubted Akashi was the type of person who genuinely felt comfortable borrowing things, though. Even from a friend.

“…I will try to keep that in mind.”

 _Nope, not comfortable at all._ Furihata bit back another grin, and changed the subject. They set a date for the visit, and Furihata asked Akashi how his week was going. Their conversation soon shifted to the usual topics: schoolwork, basketball, and more basketball.

They were in the middle of talking about the National Tournament, when Furihata remembered something. He rose from his lounging position.

“Oh, I’ve been reading the book you lent me.” He inched over to the stack on his nightstand. The book on the top was leather-bound, with gold embossed on the title. It looked like a movie prop. The title read, in English, _Classic Fairy Tales_.

“I really like it so far,” Furihata added. “And your notes for the translation are amazing. I only got stuck a few times. I asked Kagami for help, but he said the language was way too fancy.”

He laughed, and Akashi chuckled too. “I’m glad they’ve been of use. I enjoyed revisiting those stories. I found them fascinating when I was younger.”

Furihata couldn’t help wondering if this meant Akashi had read English versions like this when he was just a kid. Probably. It was unbelievable, how smart Akashi was. Sometimes Furihata still couldn’t believe he had such an amazing friend.

“Yeah, they’re all great.” He thumbed through the pages. “Some are a lot creepier than I remembered, though. I think the Japanese versions I read left out some stuff.”

“I believe most adaptations do, if they’re intended for children,” Akashi said. “The originals can be surprisingly grim.”

“Uh-huh. Like Hansel and Gretel. Their mother was so horrible.” Furihata shuddered. “And I knew The Little Mermaid had a sad ending, but it was kind of confusing… Mermaids don’t have souls, so she was going to share the prince’s by marrying him? But then it doesn’t happen and she dies… Except she becomes an air spirit or something? So she can go to heaven anyway?”

“That’s right. That particular tale has a few strange twists.”

“Yeah. But I liked all the descriptions. Like the undersea palace, and those red flowers she grew.” Furihata added, in a quieter voice, “And it was depressing, but I liked her character. That she didn’t mind how much the spell hurt her. And she wouldn’t take the prince’s life to save herself.”

“Yes, I always found that aspect of the story a bit frustrating,” Akashi said. “That the prince was so blind to her affections. He treated her like a child, when he was the one who didn’t realize she had saved him from the storm.”

“Right?” Furihata chimed in. “I’m glad Disney changed a lot of it, to be honest.”

“I imagine they must have. Though I’ve never actually seen that film.”

“What, really?” Furihata was about to add that it was great, and Akashi should watch it. He paused. Did he want Akashi to know how much he still liked that movie? When it was supposed to be for little kids?

This was Akashi, though. Who always took Furihata’s opinions seriously. Even when Furihata felt kind of weird about them.

“Well, I like that version a lot,” he admitted. “It’s fun, if you like happy endings. And the music’s great.”

“I have heard that. Alan Menken, wasn’t it?”

“Okay, how do you know that?” Furihata couldn’t help laughing. “When you’ve never even seen it?”

Akashi explained that Menken was known for being the composer for all the most famous movies of the Disney Renaissance. Except Furihata had never heard that term, so Akashi explained that too. Then they were talking about the book again, and Akashi pointed out some of the symbolism, which Furihata had missed.

Before Furihata knew it, his brother was shouting through the wall and telling him to go to bed. He was startled when he saw it was past midnight.

“I should go,” he said reluctantly. “My brother’s got a test. But I’ll see you soon?”

“Very soon, it seems,” Akashi said. “Goodnight, Furihata-kun. I hope you sleep well.”

“Goodnight,” Furihata said, smiling. “Oh, and I’ll send you my address! The house should be really easy to find. But if you get lost, there’s this one convenience store on the corner—”

He started describing his neighborhood, just in case. Then they were talking about something else, and they said goodnight a second time. And a third. It took a whack on the wall from his brother for Furihata to finally hang up.

Furihata set his phone aside, and flopped down beside the open book. Chin in hand, he started to reread some of the stories. Well, mostly he read Akashi’s notes, on lined paper tucked between each page. Akashi’s explanations were so clear and precise, and his handwriting was perfect. Because of course it was.

(Furihata had no clue how Akashi even found the time to write all this down. Just to help a friend read a book he might like. Akashi was seriously so _nice_.)

With a yawning sigh, Furihata lost himself in the next story. Cinderella, this time. He had always liked this one. It kind of reminded him of some of his favorite Japanese folk tales—how kindness was always rewarded in the end.

The truth was, fairy tales had fascinated him ever since he was a kid. No matter what country they came from. He used to wish he lived inside a story like that. A tale with royalty and castles and magic spells, where people weren’t what they seemed, and impossible things happened all the time.

Furihata rolled onto his back, and stared up at the ceiling. His life was the opposite of a fairy tale. He had the most typical home life ever, by Japanese standards. Quiet, ordinary. Which was a good thing, he figured, given his anxiety issues. Even the Disney versions of fairy tales had some pretty terrifying parts.

Sometimes, though, in secret… He still wondered what that kind of life would be like.

Furihata’s mind wandered back to the phone call. To Akashi, and everything they had talked about. He felt another rush of excitement. He couldn’t believe Akashi was really coming over to his house. Akashi Seijuurou, the most amazing friend he’d ever had. Possibly the most amazing person in the world.

Furihata studied his narrow ceiling with a frown. He was definitely going to have to talk to his mom about this. And his dad. And his brother.

He was going to have to warn them.

* * *

Furihata stumbled downstairs, rubbing the bleariness from his eyes. Rereading all of those fairy tales was probably a bad idea. He got a few hours’ sleep. But he felt like he had been dreaming the whole time.

He didn’t remember what the dreams were about, exactly. Something about long, dark hallways. And the sound of rain.

Not that it was weird to dream about rain lately. The TV was on in the living room, and the forecaster was talking about the rainy season finally wrapping up. Furihata was glad to see the sun shining outside the windows.

“Morning, Kouki.” His mom tossed him a smile over her shoulder, as she took a stack of dishes down from the cupboard.

“Morning, Mom.” He took the plate she offered, and started piling breakfast onto it. Rolled up eggs, sausage, a salad, and a bread roll with strawberry jam inside. Furihata always looked forward to their Western-style breakfast days.

(Strangely enough, Kagami had told him that Americans didn’t really eat any of these things for breakfast, except maybe the sausage. Apparently they had similar stuff, but it was prepared differently? Weird.)

Furihata headed over to the dining table. His dad gave him a silent nod, from where he sat reading the newspaper. Their table was crammed in the space between the kitchen and the living room. There wasn’t room for it anywhere else. But it was kind of nice to be able to see the TV in the morning.

Furihata settled into his chair, while his mom brought food over to his dad. He was trying to think of the best way to bring up the whole Akashi subject. He was about to ask if his brother had left, when a storm of footsteps thundered overhead.

His brother shot into the kitchen. All long limbs and tousled hair, and his usual effortless cool.

“Hey, thanks for breakfast.” His brother darted up to the counter. He wrapped up a bread roll and shoved it into his bag. “Gonna eat and run.”

“Again?” His mother frowned. “You said your exam was at nine.”

His brother was already chomping his way through a second bread roll. “Yep. I’m meeting up with some people first.”

His mother raised an eyebrow. “By people, I think you mean girlfriend.”

“Maybe.” His brother gave that half-cocked smile, the one that somehow let him get away with murder. Furihata had wished all his life that he could master that grin. (Though he had a feeling it was more about his brother’s charisma than anything.)

His mother sighed.

“Just don’t forget about your test,” she said, and Furihata’s father hummed an agreement. “I know it’s almost vacation. But you don’t want to have to retake it.”

“No sweat.” His brother rooted through the fridge. “It’s all under control.”

It probably was, Furihata thought, with mild chagrin. His older brother always did well in school. He never seemed to have to try that hard, either. Furihata wondered offhandedly what it was like to be in university. To not have to wear a uniform or sit in the same classroom all day long. It seemed pretty great.

Then he remembered what he wanted to talk about. It was now or never, if his brother was leaving. He gulped down another sip of milk.

“Hey, so, um…” He took a breath. “Mom, I wanted to ask you. Is it still okay if I have a friend spend the night? I was kind of thinking next weekend.”

His mother glanced up from her coffee. “Of course, sweetheart. Will the mattress be enough?”

“Yeah, that’s fine—”

“Is it Kawahara?” his brother chimed in. “It better be. I need some serious revenge. I’m still pissed how he kicked my ass at that one game.”

“Language, please.” His mother gave his brother a level stare.

“Uh, actually…” Furihata swallowed again. “It’s that new friend, the one I told you about. You know, the one who goes to school in Kyoto? He’s coming to Tokyo over summer break, and he—”

“Wait, is this the guy who gave you the train ticket?” his brother said. “That bizarre rabbit hole?”

Furihata held back a sigh. He had finally told his family how he became friends with Akashi Seijuurou. But they all got so confused by the whole convoluted story that he wasn’t sure it had been the best idea. “Yeah, that’s him.”

His mother was already frowning.

“I hope it’s not an imposition for him to be coming here on his vacation,” she said.

“It’s not! He wants to,” Furihata said. _At least, I really hope he does._ “He was going to be in Tokyo anyway. His family has a house here, so—”

“What do you mean, ‘a house’?” His brother knotted his brows. “You already said his family lives around here. Right?”

“Yeah, his dad does. Most of the time. I think. They, um… They have a few different houses.”

“What, is this kid loaded or something?” His brother leaned against the counter. “That explains a lot.”

His mother gave him another stare, that clearly said, _‘Don’t be rude about money.’_

“Um, well…” Furihata gave a nervous laugh. Because this was kind of what he wanted to talk about. “He comes from a pretty important family, I guess. So…”

“What’d you say his name was again?”

“Akashi Seijuurou. He’s—”

“Did you say Akashi?” His father spoke, for the first time that morning. Peering over the top of his newspaper. “As in, the Akashi Group?”

Furihata blinked. His father almost never interrupted other people. “Maybe? I don’t know what it's called. But his dad runs a big company.”

“The head of the Akashi Group is his _father_?” Behind his thick glasses, his dad’s eyes looked even wider than usual. “Akashi Masaomi? Is that his name?”

“I, uh… I’m not sure?”

“Why are you asking, honey?” His mother looked confused.

“They’re, well, they’re in the news. Almost every week.” His father thumbed through the paper. “The Akashi Group is one of the largest conglomerates. They’re in finance, real estate, manufacturing… They’ve been buying out a lot of tech companies lately.”

He held out one of the pages from the business section. His mother took it from him, and his brother came up to peer over her shoulder. Furihata craned his neck to see. Sure enough, the name “Akashi” was there, in a large bold headline.

His father pointed to another headline below it. “They own this company too. It’s been part of the push to host another Olympics in Tokyo. They want to oversee some big development projects around here.”

His brother whistled, while his mother handed the paper to Furihata. Furihata took studied the bold headline. It said something about a meeting between a bunch of Tokyo companies. Mostly just text, but there was a picture too.

Furihata squinted down at the photograph, of a line of important-looking men in suits standing near a podium. The photo was small, grainy. But in the caption below it was a list of names. Including the one his father had mentioned.

_“Akashi Masaomi, Chairman, Akashi Group.”_

Furihata looked back at the photo. At the second man to the right of the podium. He didn’t stand out in any obvious way. He had dark hair, and seemed to be of average height. Kind of on the slight side. Furihata couldn’t see the man’s face well at all. But for some reason, he felt a shiver slip down his spine.

Furihata couldn’t explain it. But something was definitely familiar about him.

“So we’re talking about a zaibatsu,” his brother was saying. “Which means what? Kouki knows the guy who’s the heir?” He shook his head. “He's business royalty. Holy shit.”

“If you talk like that when he’s visiting, I’ll take you out and string you up on the clothesline by your ears,” his mother growled. “How is this boy going to think I raised you?” She looked distressed. “I need to air out the house. Everything’s so musty from the rain. And the mess everywhere… And what on earth is he going to eat?”

Furihata straightened. That was his cue, he thought.

“Just make something you always make,” he said, as firmly as he could. “Like when my other friends come over.”

“Are you sure? But those are all so simple.” His mother cradled her chin in her hand. “Maybe it would be better if I ordered something from a restaurant, or—”

“No, really!” Furihata made his voice even more insistent. “I’m sure he’ll like it. Please, don’t do anything special. And you don’t have to go overboard with the house. I’ll help clean up if you want, but just… Act normal. Please? It’s important.”

All three of his family members were staring at him.

“Whoa, kid,” his brother said. “Where’s this coming from?”

“It’s just…” Furihata hesitated. He wasn’t sure how to say it. “Akashi-kun is really nice. And he doesn’t like being treated differently. I think he’d feel bad if we didn’t treat him like a regular guest. It’ll be fine, Mom, honest! Your cooking’s great. My friends all love coming here.”

His mother nodded, vaguely. She didn’t look sure about this at all.

“Seriously, I’ve eaten with Akashi-kun a bunch of times. He doesn’t need anything fancy,” Furihata added. He went on quickly, “And he doesn’t talk about his family much. But I think it’s okay to ask him normal stuff. His mom passed away though, so… And it bothers him when people act weird or stare. So try not to. Okay?”

“Why would we stare at him?”

“Err, well…” Furihata fumbled around for an explanation.

“Is he a huge guy or something?” his brother added. “Like that one dude on your team? The ripped one.”

Furihata knew who his brother meant, of course. Akashi didn’t resemble Kagami physically. (Like, at all.) But oddly enough, that was the closest thing to an answer that Furihata could come up with.

_“Well, you know how Kagami’s got this really strong presence? Like whenever he’s in a room, your eyes just follow him around without even thinking?”_

“Uh, no,” he managed to say. “Not exactly. But he’s—”

“Or is this like that other one?” His brother over-emphasized the last two words. “The weird kid who doesn’t exist. Even though you keep saying Mom and Dad met him at the championship party.”

“Kuroko exists!” Furihata said with a groan. It took all his self-control not to drop his forehead down onto the table. “For the billionth time.”

“Oh, that’s right.” His mother got a distant look, like she was trying to remember. “You know, I still can’t recall what that boy looked like. It’s the strangest thing.”

“Look, Akashi-kun is kind of like that,” Furihata said. To get his family back on track, more than anything. “Just, you know… The exact opposite. You’ll probably recognize him when you see him. He was in the finals too.”

Predictably, his family only looked more confused. “He was?”

The three of them were at the Winter Cup, to see Seirin in the championship game. They didn’t have the greatest seats. Still, Furihata had a feeling his family would remember the boy with bright red hair who played better than literally everyone else. (And who Furihata guarded for a few plays.)

Unfortunately, Furihata had a feeling that if he tried to explain that right now, it would just confuse them even more. He had already tried to go into it before, when he told them about the train ticket. Besides, there were some things about Akashi that you had to see up close to understand.

“Anyway,” he continued. “The point is, it’s no big deal. You guys always make my friends feel at home. I just wanted to let you know. This, um… This is really important to me?”

He pressed his lips together. Trying not to look too worried. There was a weird pause, while his mother and father and brother all exchanged glances. His mother’s expression softened.

“Of course, sweetheart,” she said, in her most reassuring voice. “We’ll be glad to meet him.”

His father nodded, and his brother added, “Don’t sweat it, kid. We’ll be cool.”

“Thanks.” Furihata made sure to give them all a grateful smile.

No matter what he said, Furihata was a little nervous. He had no idea what Akashi would think of his house, or his family. It was probably different from what Akashi was used to. (Times infinity.)

To be completely honest, Furihata was kind of tempted to react the way his mother had. To try and fix up the place, and get something really fancy for dinner, and make everyone talk politely or something.

But he had seen plenty of family sitcoms, and that stuff never worked. Eventually, the truth always came out. (After making the guest really uncomfortable, with a bunch of goofy schemes that failed in bizarre ways.) Better not to invite that kind of plot twist.

Besides, Furihata was pretty sure he was right. That Akashi would want to be treated as normally as possible.

But it wasn’t like Furihata’s family never did awkward stuff around his friends. Maybe his brother would have one of his famous foot-in-mouth moments. Or his mom would fuss too much. Or his dad would get shy and hardly say anything. Or, or…

Furihata took a deep breath. He would just have to hope for the best. And try to make Akashi as comfortable as he could.

In the end, Furihata just had a normal, boring family. Akashi would see that right away. He was a million times smarter than some random character on TV. Not to mention it was painfully _obvious_.

But hopefully, he wouldn’t mind.


	2. Overly Peculiar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your support, everyone! (I... I honestly can't believe there are a hundred kudos on this already?!) I apologize for the delay in writing proper notes for this fic. This time I made sure to write them in advance! So if you would like to read my notes about the planned format for this story (it's going to be a little different from Fast Train), and some cultural notes for this chapter, you can check out [this post on my Tumblr](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/post/155376511167/notes-for-storming-the-castle-chapters-1-2).
> 
> Thank you again for reading, and for all your amazing feedback! I can't tell you how much it means to me. I really hope you enjoy the chapter, and I hope to have the next part posted very soon. <3

_One day, a prince happened upon the little house. He studied its plain appearance, and soon became deeply curious about what sort of people lived there._

_The prince was gentle-mannered, and good of heart. But for reasons of his own, he most often kept to his castle. He was also very learned—and yet this little house confounded him. For despite how ordinary it appeared, the prince sensed that there was something unusual about this humble structure._

_A magic that was, to him, both familiar and achingly strange._

* * *

Akashi Seijuurou was at a loss.

The feeling was neither familiar nor welcome. He supposed it was inevitable, however, given his current predicament. He sighed, and adjusted his phone against his ear. He was talking with his longtime friend Midorima, while scrolling through a series of websites on his laptop.

“There is an unsettling lack of protocol on this sort of thing,” he said, when yet another site failed to mention anything regarding the etiquette of overnight visits among high school students.

Akashi knew such visits were less common in Japan than some countries. It was infinitely easier to find articles in English regarding “sleepover tips” than anything comparable in Japanese. But the visits still _happened_. Surely there were expectations in place, just like for everything else?

“I believe that’s because there isn’t any,” Midorima said, in his serious way.

Akashi pursed his lips. He was starting to think his friend was right. Ordinarily, he didn’t resort to research for social situations. It was unnecessary, and largely ineffective. But in this case, he was finding himself without an alternative.

Akashi had never had many friends in the first place. Interacting with them outside of school was a rarity, given his schedule. Which meant, for various reasons, that he had never been to a friend’s house before. (Unless that one visit to Kagami’s apartment counted… He supposed it might?)

He had certainly never spent the night at one.

“But that doesn’t make sense,” he protested. “There’s always some sort of accepted convention, even if it’s largely unspoken—”

“Trust me, I don’t understand it either,” Midorima said. “And I’m far less comfortable than you are, in terms of feeling out a situation on the spot.”

Akashi drummed his fingers on his desk. “True. But don’t you and your teammate do this sort of thing with some frequency?”

“You mean Takao?” Midorima actually groaned aloud, to Akashi’s amusement. “Akashi, there is no protocol with Takao. He just invites himself over. Sometimes without any warning. I can tell him to leave—I can _order_ him to leave—and he won’t. He is not an example of acceptable social behavior. Or good manners. Or anything, really. Maybe absurdity.”

Akashi couldn’t resist a knowing smile. He was strongly tempted to point out that if Midorima hadn’t bothered to physically throw his teammate out of the house, then he apparently didn’t mind so much. But some things were better left unsaid. (Midorima’s chemistry with Takao, for example, or the fact that their partnership clearly went beyond friendship.)

“Hmm.” Akashi leaned back in his chair. “Then I’ll just have to improvise, I suppose.”

He sighed, and rubbed his brows. Normally, the thought wouldn’t trouble him. But in this one case…

“I would prefer not to come across as overly peculiar,” he admitted.

Akashi liked to think he was skilled at social interactions, especially the more complex ones. Formal parties, newspaper interviews. Even introductions to his father’s employees, a minefield of potential errors that required him to mentally juggle a range of traits, from age to recognized merit.

But whenever it came to more “casual” situations, where there were “no rules,” well… Akashi usually found he missed the mark, in one way or another. Not badly enough to offend anyone, thankfully. But he had received more than his share of odd looks.

So when Furihata had invited him to his home, Akashi had hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to spend more time with his friend—very much the opposite—but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he would be out of his depth somehow.

Akashi couldn’t explain why, but the idea of this happening around Furihata—and maybe even more so, with his family, none of whom Akashi had met before—was especially distressing to him. Perhaps it was because Furihata was so kind. The last thing Akashi wanted was to make him, or his loved ones, uncomfortable.

“Akashi, we are peculiar,” Midorima was saying, in his driest voice. “There’s no help for it. Or so I’ve been told.”

“Beyond hope, are we?” Akashi managed a weak laugh. “Well, that’s probably accurate.”

He sank into his seat. There was a long pause. Akashi peered at the screen in front of him, at the information he had skimmed a dozen times.

A thought occurred to him. A thought that was just another question, and as unlikely to receive an answer as the rest.

“Is it customary to bring a gift, on these types of overnight visits?”

“… I honestly have no idea.”

* * *

Akashi studied the house before him. It was small, and two stories high. The exterior was plain, slightly weathered. But it was brightened by the blue hydrangea flowers that circled the front. Overall, it appeared to be a typical suburban Tokyo residence.

(Admittedly, Akashi knew this more from general knowledge than personal experience. But he was still certain the impression was accurate.)

Akashi wondered why, despite its plainness, the building felt somehow significant. He found himself taking in every detail, observing the vine-covered trellis that was visible behind the high fence, and the number of windows.

Perhaps he was just stalling.

A faint tap sounded. He looked up, to one of the second-story windows. Furihata waved down at him. He had an eager smile on his face. Akashi smiled back, without thinking. He seemed to be doing that more often lately. Without any consideration given to the effect it would have on others, or what was expected of him.

(And was he waving back? He hadn’t even felt himself start to do it. How odd.)

Furihata gestured at the ground, then disappeared. Akashi made his way through the open gate and up the walk. He shifted the shopping bag he was carrying, tucked underneath the crook of his elbow.

In the end, Akashi had brought a gift. That was typical for an ordinary house visit, he had decided. It was erring on the side of politeness, perhaps. But too much courtesy was better than the alternative.

Or so he hoped.

As Akashi approached, the front door swung open. Furihata beamed, and gestured inside. “Hey! Come on in. You’re right on time. Guess it wasn’t too hard to find.”

“Not at all. You gave excellent directions.” Akashi stepped into the genkan. The tiled space was small, and very narrow. A few pairs of shoes sat in a line, neatly pointed at the door.

Furihata inched open the shoe cabinet—he was apparently trying to avoid hitting Akashi with it—and took out a pair of slippers.

“You can use these if you want,” he said, setting the slippers on the raised wooden floor. “They’re just my extras.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose—”

“Really, go ahead,” Furihata said with a laugh. “If they’re not big enough, you can take those.” He nodded to a somewhat larger pair in the corner. “They’re my brother’s, technically. But he never uses them.”

Before Akashi could think how to respond, Furihata turned his head and called down the hall, “Hey, Mom? Akashi-kun is here.”

This was followed by an echoing crash, that sounded a bit like indoor hail. They both jumped. Akashi looked to Furihata. The other boy had a strange expression on his face. Somewhere between wide-eyed and exasperated.

“Uh, hang on,” he muttered, and scurried down the hall—although, given the size of the place, it was more like he simply turned a corner.

Akashi hovered, oddly uncertain how to proceed. He eyed the slippers. The entire concept of borrowing someone else’s things was so foreign to him. It seemed selfish to take another person’s belongings—temporarily, even—when he could easily manage on his own. He had never borrowed anything before, that he could recall.

Wearing socks alone wouldn’t be rude, Akashi thought. But on the other hand, it was rude to refuse something that was offered, wasn’t it? And perhaps Furihata’s family preferred slippers in their home…

In the end, Akashi put on the slippers. They fit perfectly.

“Please pardon the intrusion,” he murmured. Mainly out of habit, since he knew no one was listening. Two voices were speaking in hushed tones nearby. Akashi couldn’t quite make out the words. Which was fortunate, he reminded himself, because it was rude to eavesdrop.

Still, he found himself leaning to one side, in an attempt to peer around the tiny staircase. He had to admit he was curious, and oddly nervous too. He had been wondering for days what Furihata’s family might be like.

Footsteps padded down the hall, and Akashi straightened, just as Furihata came back into the room. Following him was a woman, who…

Well, she looked ordinary, all things considered. A middle-aged Japanese housewife. Yet even so, she wasn’t quite what Akashi had expected.

She was tall, for one thing. Not the tallest woman Akashi had met—he was a two-time basketball captain, who often saw his teammates’ mothers at school events—but she still stood a few centimeters higher than him. Given Furihata’s size, Akashi had expected her to be average, five and a half feet at most. (At first he thought she must be wearing heels, but of course she was in house slippers, like they were.)

She did resemble Furihata in a few respects. She was very slender, with fine brown hair. Yet she had keen eyes, and a certain sharpness to her expression, that somehow made Akashi feel caught off his guard.

“Mom, this is Akashi Seijuurou,” Furihata said. “Akashi-kun, this is my mother.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Akashi-kun.” Her voice was warm. A little brisk, in a pleasant sort of way. “I’m Furihata Kaori. Thank you for looking after my son.”

She bowed. Akashi hurried to return the introduction in kind, adding, “Thank you, for so generously inviting me into your home. I apologize for intruding.”

Her sharp eyes flickered. “No, no, not at all.”

She sounded like she meant to say more, but was distracted. She glanced at Furihata. Suddenly, Akashi could better see the resemblance in their faces. (They both had scant eyebrows, and the same thin nose.) They traded a look, one Akashi didn’t understand. He shifted, and abruptly remembered the bag under his arm. He took out an elegantly wrapped box.

“It isn’t anything worth noting, Furihata-san,” he began, offering the box in both hands. “But I did bring this. Please accept it.”

Furihata’s mother looked downright startled. “Oh, no. Really. We couldn’t.”

“Please, I insist,” Akashi said, and in spite of everything, he felt a little relieved. This was the usual reaction to a gift from a visitor. He couldn’t have done anything _too_ out of place, even if she did look surprised.

She refused again, and he insisted a second time, until she gave another bow and accepted the box.

“Thank you, you’re very kind,” she said, and she ushered him over to a couch. “Won’t you sit? I apologize for the mess.”

Akashi assumed she was saying this out of politeness, because the room looked neat as a pin. The shelves were cluttered with knickknacks, he supposed—probably omiyage souvenirs they had received over the years—but he was under the impression that was normal in many Japanese households.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Furihata’s mother said. “I was making some barley tea. It’s so hot today, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that would be very pleasant, thank you.” Until that moment, Akashi had somehow forgotten just how hot it was. Now he felt overly aware of the sweat that misted his back and neck. He made sure to sit forward on the cushions.

“Of course. Kouki, turn on that fan, would you? And get Akashi-kun’s bag for him. I’ll just… get some ice.”

“Sure, Mom.” Furihata switched on a tabletop fan, as his mother left the room. He took Akashi’s bag, and carefully set it near the stairwell. Then he sank down next to Akashi, letting out an odd sigh.

Akashi had the distinct impression he was missing something.

“Is something wrong with the ice?” he couldn’t resist asking.

Furihata gave him a strange look. “Um… Kind of?”

Akashi considered this. “It wouldn’t be related to that crash earlier, would it?”

Furihata looked at him for a moment. His face twitched into a smile. “Maybe. But if it was, I wouldn’t be allowed to tell you.”

“I see.” Akashi returned his smile. He hesitated, then added, “I hope she’s all right. And I’m not making her uncomfortable in any way.”

Furihata’s expression softened. “You’re fine. She’s just surprised by how polite you are. But that’s a good thing! She’s all about manners, you can probably tell.”

Akashi nodded. He couldn’t help thinking that this didn’t explain her reaction, not entirely. But at least he hadn’t committed some major error.

“I, uh… I’m sorry if this is weird at all?” Furihata added, in a lower voice. “I probably should have warned you. My family can be kind of awkward.”

Akashi was perplexed. Furihata’s mother didn’t seem shy, or easily overwhelmed in any way. “I didn’t get that impression just now.”

“Well, that’s good,” Furihata said, and before Akashi could ask if something was troubling him, Furihata’s mother reappeared.

“Here we are.” She set a tray down on the table. She started to hand Akashi a glass, but then drew it back again, speaking rapidly. “Ah, no, that doesn’t have enough… Here, take this one. And I apologize for the glasses.”

She fussed over the tray. Before Akashi could try to insist that it wasn’t necessary, she handed him the glass with the most ice inside. The container was unexpectedly light. Plastic, maybe?

“I used to have the nicer kind, but I had to give it up,” Furihata’s mother said, in a confidential tone. “We tend to break things around this house.”

“Mom,” Furihata said, in that familiar “please don’t” voice Akashi had often observed between children and their parents.

“Oh, it’s not just you, sweetheart! Your brother isn’t much better. And I drop plenty of things too.” She laughed, and now Akashi was fairly certain he had a clear picture of what had happened when he entered the house.

He couldn’t quite resist a smile. For some reason, he found himself remembering the times Furihata had fumbled, or nearly fumbled, a drink around him.

“So how was your trip from Kyoto, Akashi-kun?” Furihata’s mother was saying, as she set dishes of arare on the low table. “Do you always go by train? That seems like such a long ride.”

“I do take the train, generally. I’m accustomed to it,” Akashi said. Truthfully, he considered the ride a short one—‘long’ applied more to overseas flights—but he knew many Tokyoites wouldn’t see it that way. “It’s a good opportunity to study.”

She looked amazed. “My. You’re so responsible.”

Akashi blinked. He didn’t know how to explain that constant studying wasn’t a mark of virtue in his case, just a necessity. He opened his mouth, to try to say thank you, or at least politely deflect the compliment.

At which point the front door hurled open.

“I’m back,” a voice shouted, making all three of them start. A lanky young man dropped his shoes in the genkan—the motion only seemed to exaggerate his absurdly long legs—and began to plod across the wooden floor.

“We’re right here, dear,” Furihata’s mother said with a sigh. Furihata was staring fixedly at the ceiling. He looked… Akashi wasn’t sure what. “Welcome back. I thought you said you’d be home at dinnertime.”

The young man didn’t respond. He was standing very still, with his mouth hanging open. In that moment, he looked exactly like a taller version of Furihata. (Though Furihata never wore fashionably ripped jeans or used gel in his hair, to Akashi’s knowledge.) Then his eyes narrowed, and the resemblance lessened. His angular features were positively sly.

“I _do_ know you!” he said, to Akashi’s bewilderment. “Kouki, why didn’t you tell us?”

Akashi racked his brain, trying to figure out where on earth he would have met this lively person before. He assumed this must be Furihata’s elder brother. The young man looked twenty at most. But Akashi couldn’t recall having seen him anywhere else.

“I tried,” Furihata said, in a protesting sort of voice. “But you guys just kept getting confused.”

“That’s because you left out the important part!” the young man exclaimed. He looked back at Akashi. “I can’t believe it. Holy crap. You’re that guy from the finals.”

Just like that, the blood in Akashi’s veins turned to ice. Because “the finals” could only mean one thing.

Akashi never realized that Furihata’s family had attended the Winter Cup championship. It was bad enough that an entire crowd of people had witnessed that game. His other self had behaved like a self-important dictator, then proceeded to have a very obvious meltdown. Truth be told, Akashi didn’t consider the defeat his finest moment either.

But right now, all of this paled in comparison to the fact that Furihata’s family had been there. Which meant they had seen Akashi arrogantly overpowering their youngest family member without a thought—until Furihata was so stricken he could hardly _stand_. They couldn’t be expected to know Akashi was his other self at the time. And it didn’t matter. Akashi ultimately considered himself responsible, for his other self’s callous behavior.

Suddenly, Akashi had the urge to stand up and dart straight out the door. He might have seriously considered it—save for the fact that his rising horror had paralyzed him. An apology hung on his lips, frozen.

Furihata’s brother was crossing the room. He was grinning, but Akashi didn’t understand why at all. Was this strangely animated person going to punch him?

“You’re incredible,” the young man said, and now Akashi was even more confused. “Seriously. A total badass.”

Akashi vaguely heard Furihata’s mother make a scolding comment. He couldn’t process it, however.

“Come on, Mom, don’t you remember? He’s the best player I’ve ever seen!” Furihata’s brother leaned over the back of the nearest chair, so far he looked like he was about to topple over. “Okay, but you’ve gotta tell me how you do it. Go on, spill.”

Akashi gaped up at him. Utterly stunned. “I—I’m not quite certain what you mean.”

“Oh come on! You gotta know.” Furihata’s brother laughed. “The dunking, man! You can _dunk_. I can barely even do it—okay, let’s be real. I can’t. I can sort of touch the rim, on a good day. But you’re so short!”

“Jeez, would you stop,” Furihata muttered between his fingers.

“What, is that some kind of insult? Hate to break it to you, kid, but you’re smaller than he is.” The young man snorted, then leaned even closer to Akashi. “Seriously, what’s your secret? How the hell does a guy like you get all the way up there?”

Akashi glanced at Furihata, who was still palming his face. He looked back to Furihata’s brother. Unfortunately, Akashi had no idea how to answer this particular question. Certainly not in any helpful way.

“I, well… I jump,” he said.

Furihata’s brother stood motionless. Then he burst into ear-ringing laughter.

“Jump!” he repeated, in between gasps. “He _jumps_. Holy shit. You are literally the greatest. Oh my god. Kouki, this guy is the best!”

Akashi felt a burst of relief. At least this boisterous individual didn’t seem angry with him. Meanwhile, Furihata’s mother set down her glass of tea, and rose from her chair. She took the young man sharply by the collar.

“Please excuse us, Akashi-kun,” she said. “We’ll be back in a moment. I need to discuss something with my eldest.”

She proceeded to drag Furihata’s brother out of the room, trailed by a chorus of, “Ow, Mom, not so hard, I like this shirt.”

Akashi felt the sofa cushions shift. He looked over to see Furihata collapse into a slouch.

“God,” he groaned. “I’m so sorry about him. He’s just… like that. I was going to warn you, but I thought you wouldn’t have to deal with him right away.”

In the background, Akashi could hear Furihata’s brother saying, “All right, Mom, all right! I got it. Put away the clothespins. I’m not _five_ ,” and her response, which was, “Then you need to start acting like it around company! And stop embarrassing your mother.” Akashi wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. Somehow, it mostly just made him want to laugh.

He smiled over at Furihata, in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

“It’s all right,” he said gently. “Please don’t worry. I wasn’t offended.”

Furihata cocked his head, staring at him. “How is that possible? I was. I was offended _twice_.” He crossed his arms, adding in a mutter, “He thinks his height is normal or something. When he’s the weird one.”

Akashi chuckled. He raised an eyebrow. “I seem to be detecting some kind of history behind this.”

“You have no idea.” Furihata let out a breath, that buzzed soundly between his lips. “Brothers suck sometimes.”

Akashi was almost tempted to say that he did have some experience with that. But he supposed having another self who felt like a sibling to him didn’t really count. He had never explained any of this to Furihata, in any case. Akashi certainly didn’t know how it felt to be the younger brother.

“In all honestly, I was too preoccupied to take any offense,” he said, slowly. “I was more concerned he might decide to punch me.”

Furihata sat up, eyes widening. “Why in the heck would he want to punch you?”

Akashi hesitated, unsure how to explain. Before he could decide, Furihata’s brother sauntered back into the room.

“Hey, sorry about before,” he said. “I was being rude. And reflecting badly on the unsurpassed honor of the Furihata family. Or something.”

His mother shot him a warning look as she walked around him, but he just grinned.

“Anyway, almost forgot.” He gestured to himself. “Furihata Kintarou. Thanks for looking out for my little bro.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Kintarou-san,” Akashi said, with a small bow of his head. “I’m Akashi Seijuurou. Thank you for welcoming me into your home.”

Furihata’s brother gazed at him. His eyes were as keen as his mother’s. They darted around, like he was making an effort to take something in.

“Wow. Are you even for—” He stopped abruptly, and shook his head. “Uh, I mean. Same. It’s great to finally meet the guy Kouki never shuts up about.”

There was an odd gargle. Furihata appeared to have narrowly avoided choking on his barley tea. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I do not!” he sputtered.

“What? Yeah you do. You talk about him more than I talk about Rei-chan.” His brother glanced at Akashi, adding, “My girlfriend, she’s awesome,” apparently for context.

“No, I don’t,” Furihata said again, more insistently this time. His ears were turning pink. “There’s no way. You never stop going on about her.”

“Exactly. Now you know how bad it is.” Furihata’s brother paused, then added, “I mean come on, you didn’t even talk about _your_ girlfriend that much! Ex-girlfriend. What’s-her-face. The cranky one. She was hot, though.”

Furihata was a rather fascinating shade of magenta at this point. “Wh-why are we even talking about her right now?”

“I didn’t like that girl,” Furihata’s mother said, with a thoughtful shake of her head. She was perched on her chair again, taking sips of tea. “She was pretty, but she wasn’t right for you, Kouki. You need a kind, gentle girl. A nice one.”

Furihata let out a strangled sort of whimper. Akashi tried to think of some way to rescue him—he didn’t have experience in this sort of thing, but he could see why relatives openly discussing a former love interest would be embarrassing—yet he was distracted.

He couldn’t explain precisely why. But the thought that Furihata often spoke of him to his family made Akashi smile. He felt a curious flutter in his chest, as he wondered what Furihata had been telling them. Good things, he hoped.

“Yeah, Kouki, you need to hurry up and settle down,” Furihata’s brother was saying, as he grabbed a handful of arare. “Mostly so you’ll stop stealing all _my_ crushes.”

He snickered, while Akashi did a double-take. This was certainly news to him.

Furihata just moaned. “Not this again. It wasn’t even like that.”

“Like hel—heck it wasn’t! You had such a thing for her. I mean don’t get me wrong, it was adorable. Still broke my poor nine-year-old heart.” Furihata’s brother paused to cram the arare in his mouth.

“Who is he talking about, Kouki?” His mother looked confused.

“You know, Mom. Mari-chan,” Furihata said in a mumble. “But that wasn’t even what happened! I didn’t do anything.”

“Ohhh,” his mother said, very knowingly. “Yes, I remember. You both would play with her every chance you got.”

“Uh-huh. And get this!” His brother finally collapsed into the chair he was leaning on. “So listen, Akashi-kun. This girl is awesome, right? Cute, funny, she’s the best. So every day after school, me and Kouki here, we pretend to be knights. And Mari-chan, she’s the princess and we save her. All over the neighborhood. Me, I’m dying to impress her. Kouki, he just likes all those frilly fairy tales. And she loves the stuff too, by the way.”

He punctuated his words with energetic sweeps of his arm. Akashi nodded, doing his best to keep up with this rapid-fire story.

(He was starting to realize that Furihata’s family all seemed to talk rather quickly. Was this where Furihata had picked up that particular skill?)

“So I keep grilling him for different ideas for the monsters—dragons, witches, I don’t know what all. And every day, _every day_ , I save this girl. Okay, well sometimes she would take my sword and kill the bad guy herself, because she was the coolest. But you get it, right? I’m a knight here, making my best effort. And you think she’d be swooning, huh? Grateful?”

Akashi couldn’t hold back a smile.

“That’s certainly how it happens in the stories,” he offered, trying to be diplomatic.

“Exactly! But half the time she’s just rolling her eyes and telling me how I’m doing something wrong. Which only makes me like her more. Meanwhile Kouki is just following me around. He’s my sidekick, also sometimes my nurse, because he’s always got Band-Aids and I’m sustaining some _seriously epic wounds_ during these showdowns. Imaginary, usually, but epic. And he’s great, the best pretend surgeon a guy could ask for. Only… only…!”

Furihata’s brother stopped to grip his chest, as if someone had speared him through the heart.

“Mari keeps insisting he patch her up too, right? So this one time she says the patient needs her privacy and she takes him out behind the neighbor’s hedge and I peek and _she’s kissing him_.” He let out a theatrical groan. “And that was the day my shattered heart forgot how to love. Darkest betrayal.”

At this point, Akashi honestly couldn’t help but laugh. He raised his hand to his mouth, in an attempt to muffle it. Furihata, meanwhile, seemed to be shrinking into the couch cushions.

“I had no idea what she was doing, okay?” he stammered. “It wasn’t like she asked. And she just kissed me on the cheek!”

Akashi eyed him, still chuckling. “You didn’t return it?”

“Are you kidding?” Furihata’s brother snorted. “This guy here, Mr. Suave? His eyes go all huge and his face turns crayon-red and he _bolts_. He runs away from her! And she thinks it’s the cutest thing in history. I don’t even know. Girls.”

“Yeah, but then she kept doing it all the time!” Furihata cried, his brows bunched into a frown. “And you were mad, and she kept chasing me and I didn’t know what to—Mom. What are you doing.”

He said this with a heavy sort of trepidation. Furihata’s mother had risen from her chair again, and was taking down a large book from a nearby shelf.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” she said, in a cheerful tone.

She brought the book over to the low table. Akashi caught the word ‘Album’ in curling foil script beneath her arm.

“Oh, good. Visual aids.” Furihata’s brother’s eyes were twinkling. “Anyway, Kouki, say whatever you want, but I know you liked it. You always let her catch you eventually. You’ve got a thing for assertive types.”

“Like you don’t,” Furihata muttered. He was blushing again.

Meanwhile, Furihata’s mother was turning the wide plastic pages of the album. Her eyes brightened with recognition. She set down the open book on the table.

“That’s Mari-chan with the boys,” she said, pointing to a photograph in one corner. “The three of them were so cute together.”

Akashi craned his neck to study the photo. Two brown-haired boys stood in front of a vine-covered fence, on either side of a little girl. All three had an impressive array of adhesive bandages on their bare legs. The taller boy and the girl grinned broadly at the camera, with dimpled cheeks.

The shorter boy had the widest eyes Akashi had ever seen. His head was turned slightly, and he bit his lip in a halting smile. Akashi found his gaze lingering on the shorter boy, as a feeling of warm familiarity curled in his chest.

He studied the girl again. She had large, shining eyes, and her hair was pulled back with a light blue hairband.

“She is very pretty,” he said, with a knowing glance at Furihata. Furihata rolled his eyes. His face was still pink all over.

“Right?” Furihata’s brother shook his head, as he examined the photo. “And Kouki was two years younger than her! I’m telling you, he’s got a weird way with the ladies.”

Furihata looked taken aback. “Oh, come on. I do not!”

“Argue all you want, kid. But if you’d actually confess more than once a century, they’d be all over you.” Furihata’s brother took the arare dish from the table, and settled back into his chair. Furihata let out an aggravated sigh.

Furihata’s mother was again turning the pages of the album. Akashi soon realized that this book was specifically intended for pictures of Furihata. His given name was written neatly beneath each photograph, along with a description. _‘Kouki’s first day of school.’ ‘Kouki at the playground.’_ The little boy with flyaway brown hair was often looking away from the camera, like something had just startled him.

“Here he is for Shichi-go-san,” his mother said, with a soft smile.

Akashi smiled too, as he peered down at the photo. There was Furihata at five years old, wearing a blue haori robe and ivory-striped hakama trousers. He stood in front of a shrine, holding the usual bag for chitose-ame candy. He clutched the handle between his small hands, as though he felt it was very important that he not let go of it.

“Okay, Mom, that’s enough with the pictures,” Furihata said, fidgeting. “I’m sure Akashi-kun isn’t really interested in those.”

“Don’t be silly, they’re so cute.” His mother kept turning pages. “Oh, I should show you some of his baby ones. I have the most adorable shots of him in a diaper.”

“Hey, find the one where Kouki’s drooling all over his teddy bear. That one’s awesome.”

“O-o-okay, um, actually!” Furihata abruptly stood up. “Akashi-kun never got a chance to settle in, s-so… I mean, he still has to put his stuff in my room? So we’re gonna go upstairs now.” He grabbed Akashi’s bag, and gave a rather frantic nod toward the staircase.

Akashi watched Furihata from his spot on the couch. He forced his lips not to twitch. “I really wouldn’t want to be rude, and leave prematurely.”

He couldn’t quite hide the humor in his voice. Furihata goggled at him.

“Yeah, Kouki, he doesn’t want to be rude. Jeez.” Furihata’s brother was grinning.

Furihata looked increasingly horrified. His gaze darted from Akashi to his mother, and back to Akashi. Suddenly, to Akashi’s surprise, his eyes narrowed. He marched up to the couch and took Akashi by the arm.

“Don’t worry, Akashi-kun, we’re the rude ones. I really should have taken you to my room first. We’ll be back in a bit!”

Just like that, Furihata was forcibly dragging him toward the stairwell. Akashi allowed himself to be led up the staircase, taking care not to trip on the narrow wooden steps or lose a slipper.

A giddy feeling was bubbling up in his chest, that inexplicable urge to laugh again. This wasn’t the first time that Furihata had surprised him, by taking his arm and leading him somewhere. But it amused Akashi every time, somehow.

He wasn’t sure whether it was because he wasn’t used to being led, or because it was Furihata doing it, of all people.

Akashi barely had time to register that they were in the shortest hallway he’d ever seen. Before he knew it, they were inside a bedroom. At least, he assumed that was the room’s function. A bed sat beneath a blind-covered window, which seemed rather too big for the wall. The room was so narrow that it honestly reminded Akashi more of a closet.

Before he could absorb his surroundings, Furihata let go of his arm.

“Argh. They’re seriously trying to kill me.” Furihata heaved a breath, collapsing onto the double bed. “And now you’re in on it.”

He shot Akashi an accusing look. Akashi forced back a smile.

“I apologize,” he said, sincerely. “I just found it rather interesting.”

“What’s interesting about a bunch of dorky pictures?” Furihata scoffed, and Akashi was uncertain how to answer. “I can’t believe my mom! She’s never this bad. Not even when I brought my ex-girlfriend over.”

He shook his head dazedly.

“Really?” Akashi said, curious. “I just assumed it was some sort of welcoming ritual.”

“No!” Furihata sounded indignant. “She’s like the opposite, most of the time. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

Akashi chuckled, as he glanced around the room. A poster-sized desk and a full bookcase stood beside him. Above the window, an air-conditioning unit hummed away. A collage of papers on the wall rippled in the breeze. Upon closer inspection, they were charts of the major JR railways, carefully arranged and with notes taped all over the corners. They spread onto a sliding door, which Akashi assumed was some sort of closet.

Akashi would have thought such a room might feel claustrophobic. Instead, it was curiously inviting. Everything was very tidy, and the room had ivory walls and a polished wood floor. A bit crowded, but organized.

He wasn’t sure why, but it reminded him of Furihata.

“Anyway.” Furihata’s chest rose and fell as he exhaled. He propped himself up on his arms. “Glad you made it. Are you tired from the train or anything?”

“Not at all,” Akashi replied.

“That’s good. I was thinking we could maybe take a walk later?” Furihata said as he sat up. “I have this one errand to run. But you could also stay here, if you want.”

Akashi shook his head. “I’d enjoy the chance to see your neighborhood.”

“Okay, great! We’ll go when the sun isn’t so high. I thought I was going to melt on my way home.” Furihata paused. “By the way. Aren’t you boiling like that?”

“What do you mean?” Akashi tipped his head to the side.

Furihata gestured vaguely in the direction of Akashi’s torso. It took Akashi a moment before he understood. He was wearing pants and long sleeves. Not the most typical summer garb for a teenager, even if the fabrics _were_ light.

“It’s not that unpleasant.” He gave a small shrug. “I prefer to cover up if I expect to be in the sun. Unless I plan to play basketball.”

“Why—oh.” A knowing look flitted across Furihata’s face. “You aren’t one of those people who sunburns easily, are you?”

Akashi sighed. “You cannot begin to imagine.”

Furihata laughed. “Red all over, huh? I almost want to see that.”

“Believe me, you don’t. I’ve been informed many times that it’s painful to behold.” Akashi wrinkled his nose. “Not to mention to experience. I do use sunscreen, but clothes are more foolproof.”

“Yeah. Sunscreen is great and all, but it seems like I always miss a few spots.” Furihata eyed his own arm. He was more typically clothed, in an airy t-shirt and shorts. There was a certain glow to his skin, that hadn’t been there in the early spring.

Akashi sidled up to Furihata. He rolled up his sleeve, and held out his arm beside his friend’s, so that they were side by side.

“Wow.” Furihata pressed his wrist against Akashi’s. “I don’t really think of myself as tan, but I’m definitely more than you.”

He chuckled, and Akashi did the same. They were both quiet, studying the difference. Pale ivory, and a muted hue of beige.

Akashi looked over at Furihata, and their eyes met. In that moment, he was strangely conscious of how close they were. Furihata’s skin felt warm, soft. Akashi wasn’t used to physical contact, admittedly. But he wasn’t sure why a faint shiver was skimming down his arm.

Furihata gave a slight shake of his head, and Akashi blinked. They laughed again, a bit awkwardly, and inched apart.

Akashi couldn’t help noticing the atmosphere had changed. It had happened before, on occasions when they were both quiet... He supposed it was because they rarely stopped talking.

Furihata knelt beside his bed, and slid a box from underneath the mattress. He opened it, then held up a familiar plastic case.

“So, um… You wanna give me another lesson?” He waggled the portable shougi set. “If you’re up for beating me the millionth time, I mean.”

Akashi felt his smile widen. “It would be an honor as always, Furihata-kun.”

Furihata snorted—but his eyes sparkled, and Akashi knew the joke was mutual. Akashi joined him on the floor, and they sat across from each other. They began to arrange the pieces on the board.

“Your family won’t mind if we stay here?” Akashi said, with a nod to the open door. “I wouldn’t want them to think I’m trying to hide.”

“It’s fine. I always bring my friends up here before dinner. My brother wasn’t supposed to be home anyway.” Furihata rolled his eyes. Then he glanced at Akashi. “I still don’t get how you can sit like that.”

Akashi was sitting in a traditional stance, balanced on his calves. Furihata, meanwhile, had his legs crossed in front of him. Most boys their age seemed to favor that posture, Akashi had noticed. He briefly considered changing position, not wanting to seem out of place—but if Furihata already knew it was a habit, he supposed it didn’t matter.

“I find it comfortable,” he admitted. “But I’m accustomed to it. Some of my tutors required seiza during their lessons.”

He paused. He was doing it again… That strange thing where he spoke of his private life, without a thought.

Akashi had lately resolved to be more open with his friends. Even so, he often found himself hesitating, needing to make a choice to speak. He knew his home life was far from typical. He didn’t want to draw attention to something that might cause others to regard him as peculiar, or treat him any differently.

With Furihata, however, the words seemed to just slip out. Akashi couldn’t explain why this was. But no matter what he said, Furihata always seemed to treat him the same as before.

“They don’t make you do it now?” Furihata sounded oddly curious.

“I don’t have as many lessons in traditional culture as I once did,” Akashi explained. “My focus has largely shifted to international subjects.”

Furihata’s eyes looked even wider than usual. “So in other words, you mastered all the Japanese stuff, and now you’re learning everything else.”

Akashi hesitated. He supposed that was accurate to a degree, but… “I wouldn’t say I’ve truly mastered those subjects. Only to the extent that was required of me.”

Furihata was silent, gazing at him. Akashi wished he could read the expression on his friend’s face. Was it curiosity, or disbelief? Something else, perhaps?

In the end, Furihata simply shook his head.

“Whatever you say, master shougi player.” He grinned. “So, what’re you going to teach me this time?”

He gestured to the board. Akashi echoed his smile, and began to explain some of the more common strategies for the start of the game. The AC unit murmured overhead, and a faint breeze danced through the room. The window was closed. Still, Akashi thought he could hear the soft, glassy tinkling of a wind chime, somewhere outside.

He gradually noticed other sounds, coming from downstairs. Brisk clatters and thuds, mingled with formal voices. The voices sounded like a television program, while the others seemed to be coming from a kitchen. It was strange, to be able to hear what was happening on an entirely different floor of the house.

Akashi eyed his friend. Furihata’s face was creased with concentration. He was resting his elbows on his bare knees, as his gaze darted back and forth across the board. He looked more relaxed than he usually did, Akashi thought.

At home.

A strange feeling crept through Akashi then. A soft one, halfway between a shiver and an ache. As though all of this was important somehow. He felt the same way whenever he looked around the little room, or listened to the noise downstairs.

He didn’t understand it.

Halfway through their first game, Akashi realized he felt more at ease. He had met most of Furihata’s family, and they were just as welcoming as Furihata was. He didn’t think he had made a poor impression, either. But he still had a vague feeling of discomfort. He supposed he was still worried that he would do something odd.

After all, he couldn’t imagine what else it could be.


	3. Indebted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all my amazing readers for your patience! My original draft of this chapter ended up being too long, so I decided to break it up into two parts. (Which means the next part should be out very soon! And this fic will have two more chapters than originally planned.) Also, I've been working on my individual replies to the last chapter, but I really want to make sure to say thank you so much to everyone who commented. Your lovely words motivated me so much, you have no idea. <3
> 
> If you'd like to read a few extra notes for the chapter, you can check out [this post on my Tumblr](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/post/156434173787/notes-for-storming-the-castle-chapter-3).

_The family humbly invited the prince into their home. Though he tried to refuse, they insisted, until at last his courtesy would no longer allow him to decline._

_The father and mother introduced the prince to their two sons. Each one had a curious object in his possession. The first son kept a lump of gold in his pocket. He handled it carelessly, as though he did not know its true worth. When the prince asked how the son had come by it, he shrugged and said, “I’m always finding things like this, it’s nothing special.”_

_The second son was different. He carried a candle, everywhere he went. He tended to it at all hours, worrying over the tiny light that trembled on the wick. When the prince asked what he was doing, the shy boy did not seem to know how to answer._

_The father explained, “My son has kept that little flame burning ever since he was born, Your Highness. But it never goes out, and the candle is never used up.”_

_The prince was amazed. He saw that the two sons had been blessed by magic all their lives. They were pure of heart, and so the powerful magic in their home—as simple as it was—had filled them, just as it had filled the house._

_The prince smiled at the second son, hoping to put him at his ease. To his surprise, the boy smiled back, with a warmth that set the prince’s heart as alight as the candle. Against the prince’s better judgment, he agreed to remain at the house for the night._

_For though few people knew it, the prince had been living in darkness for a very long time._

* * *

Akashi couldn’t remember how many rounds of shougi they had played. It had been long enough that the light around Furihata’s blinds had changed, from scorching white to a more golden hue. Furihata stretched, and leaned back on his hands.

“You win again,” he said, and Akashi couldn’t help but marvel at his cheery tone. “So, are you up for going out? I’m kind of hungry.”

“We’re not eating with your family?” Akashi said, surprised.

“No, we will! I mean, if that’s okay. Dinner’s just usually kind of late. We like to wait for my dad to get home, so it’s probably a good idea to get a snack or something.”

“That does sound wise,” Akashi said, as he helped Furihata replace the game pieces inside the foldup board.

They headed down the stairs. When they reached the ground floor, Furihata turned and padded down the hall toward the back of the house. Akashi hesitated, unsure if he ought to follow.

He shadowed Furihata in the end, into a small, spotless kitchen. It opened into another space with a dining table. On the other side of the table sat a couch and a television. Furihata’s brother was sprawled on the couch, flipping through the channels.

“Hey Mom, Akashi-kun and I are going out,” Furihata was saying. His mother stood at the counter. She was cutting carrots with impressive speed. Her keen gaze darted from Furihata, to where Akashi stood.

An odd frown crossed her face. For a moment, Akashi could have sworn she looked troubled. His throat gave a twinge. Was he just imagining it?

“All right, sweetheart,” she said to Furihata. “Try to be back in an hour.”

“We will,” Furihata said, as his brother peered over the back of the couch.

“So, where’re you kids going?” A smirk played on his lips. “Anywhere interesting? Do I need to chaperone?”

“No,” Furihata huffed. “We’re in _high school_. And it’s none of your business.”

Furihata’s brother cackled. Akashi couldn’t help but notice that Furihata looked a little flushed. He wondered if there was some reason Furihata didn’t want to say where they were going.

Akashi trailed his flustered friend back down the hall—though not before excusing himself from the kitchen, with a bow of his head. He changed into his shoes, and headed out with Furihata into the muggy air of the late July afternoon.

Furihata was muttering something about brothers again. Akashi smiled, but he was distracted. His mind was racing, as he tried to think what could be bothering Furihata’s mother. Had he done something to upset her? He was certain their initial encounter had gone well, and his actions in the kitchen were practically nonexistent…

He wondered suddenly if she had opened the gift he brought. His stomach dropped. He hoped she didn’t dislike it. It was a fairly standard gift, but a little old-fashioned. Perhaps it wasn’t to their family’s tastes.

“Akashi-kun? Are you okay?”

Akashi snapped to attention. “Please excuse me. Were you saying something?”

Furihata smiled, in that small way he had. With one corner of his mouth edging a little higher than the other.

“Not really.” His tone was friendly, but quiet. “You just looked kind of worried.”

His eyes were a warm hue of amber in the sunlight. Akashi shook his head.

He still didn’t understand how Furihata seemed to anticipate his emotions, to read him so well when most people couldn’t. He knew Furihata was observant, and had a deep sense of empathy. But those things still didn’t seem to explain it.

It was almost like a kind of sixth sense.

“I was just wondering if your mother was all right,” he said, finally.

Furihata looked confused, but Akashi wasn’t sure how to explain his concerns.

“Was she preparing dinner by herself?” he added, with a glance back at the house. “Should we be helping her?”

Furihata’s half-smile had returned. “It’s nice of you to offer, but there’s no way she’d let you. You’re a guest.” He hesitated. “Plus… She’s actually kind of protective of her kitchen? She lets me help sometimes. But my dad and brother are banned for life.”

He was grinning outright now, and Akashi chuckled. “I see.”

“Honestly, it could’ve been awkward if you asked.” Furihata looked like he was going to say more about this, but then he shrugged. “Anyway, I hope you like curry rice? That’s what we’re having.”

“That sounds very good,” Akashi assured him.

At least dinner wouldn’t be a source of worry, Akashi thought. Curry rice was a staple, and he had eaten it plenty of times at school. He was actually a little curious what the dish was like homemade. It wasn’t exactly a meal his family chef prepared.

“Ugh, and now I’m _really_ hungry.” Furihata quickened his pace. They were passing house after house, each one with a miniature garden and a modest second story. On some of the balconies, laundry hung out to dry. “Hope there’s not a line.”

“Line?” Akashi repeated. “Where exactly are we going?”

Furihata’s eyes brightened even further. “You’ll see. It’s no big deal, though.”

They reached the end of the street, and turned the corner. They passed the smallest park Akashi had ever seen, and another residential street. Soon they entered a road lined with shops. The shops were as narrow as the houses. Most were the old-fashioned kind, designed for the owners to live on the upper story.

Akashi gazed all around him. The place had a quaint feel, like a classic shitamachi neighborhood. They passed an older woman carrying groceries. She greeted Furihata by name, and he returned her greeting. One of the shop owners waved, and a boy called out to him as he sped past on his bike.

“You’re acquainted with all these people?” Akashi asked, intrigued.

“Yup.” Furihata’s voice was cheerful. “Everyone around here knows each other. I guess it’s kind of weird for Tokyo? But it’s nice. Usually.”

Akashi nodded, a bit absently. He lived in an area of Tokyo that was unusual in its own right, where storied families had lived in the same houses for generations. And they all knew each other, in a sense. But it was nothing like this.

Akashi glanced at Furihata. It was surprising, to see him interacting so easily with people passing on the street. Akashi had always thought of Furihata as shy. But of course, these people weren’t strangers. Many of them must have known Furihata for years, even when he was a little boy.

It was strange to think about, somehow. Akashi had only known Furihata for a matter of months.

Furihata led him toward a wooden shop. A familiar sign hung outside it: the kanji for ice written in red, with a blue wave in the background. Akashi raised his brows, and tossed a knowing look at Furihata.

“I should have guessed, shouldn’t I?” he said, and Furihata laughed.

“Probably. Is that okay? We could go to that combini instead, if you want.” He gestured to a more modern-looking shop, with clusters of advertisements pasted to the glass windows.

“No, kakigori is perfect.” Akashi followed Furihata into the shop’s interior. Three small tables sat in a corner, each with a pair of chairs.

A mother sat at a table with her daughters, one perched in her lap and the other across from her. They were all sharing the same bowl, which overflowed with syrupy, shaved ice. The smaller girl watched Akashi as he entered, her sticky lips open. He smiled at her. Her round eyes seemed to grow even larger in response.

A young woman stood behind the counter, with her back to the door. She was talking to a middle-aged man who was operating an ice shaver machine. The device let out a steady whir. Furihata approached the counter, and the young woman turned and smiled at him.

“Oh, hey, Kouki.” Her short hair framed her face in an appealing way. Akashi assumed she was in college. She looked considerably more stylish than the average high school student. “Did you bring your—”

She stopped. Her eyes went wide as they landed on Akashi. Akashi didn’t wonder why, however. He was accustomed to people gaping at him, particularly strangers. He was aware he had an unusual appearance—and, for whatever reason, that his presence often made others nervous.

He always did his best to put other people at ease. Akashi liked to think he had improved in this regard. But their initial reactions were still the same, generally.

“Uh, yeah, this is Akashi-kun,” Furihata said, glancing quickly between them.

The young woman’s mouth hung open.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Akashi said. He wasn’t sure whether he ought to introduce himself in detail—or how well she and Furihata were acquainted, for that matter. Though they were apparently familiar enough to use given names.

Unfortunately, the young woman didn’t give him anything more to go on. For a moment she didn’t even react. Then she stiffened, adopting a more neutral expression.

“Oh. Yeah!” Her voice seemed higher than before. “Real nice to meet you too! Uh…”

She laughed a little, and pushed her hair back from her face. Akashi waited patiently for her to say more, perhaps to introduce herself.

“Hey, so before I forget, did you bring them?” Furihata said suddenly, addressing the young woman. “The… you know.”

The young woman’s gaze snapped over to Furihata.

“Oh, right. Yeah, sure,” she said, almost as though she had slipped out of some kind of trance. “They’re in the back. I’ll… I’ll just go grab them, actually. Uh. One sec.”

She laughed again, as she hurried into a back room. Akashi wondered what Furihata could have asked her to bring, and why he didn’t specify what it was. Perhaps this was the errand he had mentioned earlier…

“So, which flavor are you getting?” Furihata nodded to the handwritten menu.

Akashi blinked, surprised at the change of subject. He was starting to feel as though several elements of this interaction were eluding him.

Nevertheless, he agreeably studied the menu. “Well, matcha is a favorite of mine. Though the summer orange seems appropriate. What would you recommend?”

“Those are both good. You can’t go wrong, to be honest. I always get the strawberry milk, but that’s just because I like it too much to branch out.” Furihata laughed.

They traded a smile. Furihata’s smile was becoming so familiar, Akashi thought. The other boy never seemed nervous or uncomfortable around him lately. The days when Akashi constantly worried about sending Furihata into a panic were gone.

He was very grateful for that.

“In that case, I’ll get the matcha,” he said with warmth. “We’ll both have our favorites.”

“Great!” Furihata leaned over the counter, addressing the man in the kitchen. “Hey, Takada-san? Could we get a matcha and a strawberry milk?”

The man gave him a friendly nod, and set about preparing the ice.

Furihata ushered Akashi over to one of the tables. “Here, we can sit, if you want.”

“How much do I owe you?” Akashi asked. He was glad he had remembered to put his wallet in his pocket before they left the house.

Furihata shook his head, however.

“Nope, you’re my guest today,” he said, cheerful. “I’ll get it.”

Akashi hesitated—it never felt quite right to allow someone else to pay for him—but he nodded in the end. He made sure to thank Furihata, as they settled into their chairs. It wasn’t long before the man brought over two large bowls, each heaped with a mountain of finely shaved ice.

Akashi was pleased to find his green tea flavor was done in the Ujikintoki style. Red azuki beans and mochi balanced delicately on top of the ice, which was drenched in green syrup. Furihata’s kakigori looked equally delicious, with thick, jam-like syrup, condensed milk, and chunks of strawberries.

“I see why you like to come here,” Akashi said, and Furihata beamed.

They were a few bites in—Akashi’s tasted perfect, cold and grassy-sweet—when the young woman emerged from the back room. She approached their table, glancing at Akashi for an instant before turning to Furihata.

“Here you go,” she said, in her friendly tone from before. She held up a plastic bag. “I dug up all the ones I could find. And some of Momo’s, too. Sorry if they’re scratched.”

“No worries,” Furihata reassured her. He took the bag and set it down by his feet, out of sight. “And thanks! It was really nice of you to look.”

“It was nothing.” She glanced again at Akashi. She opened her mouth, when two little boys entered the shop. At which point she shot Furihata a smile, and made her way back to the counter. “Well, anyway. Enjoy.”

“Yup,” Furihata said. “Thanks, Mari.”

Akashi gave a start. His gaze darted back to the young woman. She was the girl from Furihata’s photo album. The one he used to play with every day, who liked to chase and even kiss him… No wonder they were on such familiar terms.

For the next half hour, Akashi tried to focus on his conversation with Furihata. (And on eating his ice before it melted.) But Mari came back to their table more than once, and Akashi was strangely fascinated by their interactions. She and Furihata talked almost like family—but no, not quite.

Furihata smiled and laughed a great deal, much like he did when he spoke to Akashi. But there was something else there, too. Something in the way he ran his fingers through his hair, and glanced at her when she left their table. Small, self-conscious gestures.

He was attracted to her, Akashi realized.

Akashi knew Furihata was attracted to girls. But he had never seen him interact with one for any prolonged length of time. And Mari was objectively beautiful. Fresh-faced, well-groomed. An archetypal girl next door, who had probably opted to dress more fashionably for university, as many Japanese girls did. It made perfect sense that Furihata would find her attractive.

Still, the whole thing felt somehow… strange.

Akashi couldn’t help but notice how Mari smiled back at Furihata, too. With bright, friendly eyes. She even shoved him lightly on the shoulder, when they were joking about something Akashi didn’t follow. A shared memory of some kind.

Akashi recalled then how often Furihata had expressed a desire to find love. He wanted a girlfriend, so much so that he once visited a love shrine in Kyoto for that very purpose. Akashi had always assumed that Furihata must be too shy to talk to girls. That they didn’t have the chance to see all his good qualities, hence his apparent difficulty.

Seeing Furihata with Mari, Akashi realized he was right. But only to a degree. Furihata’s brother’s words echoed in his brain:

_“He’s got a weird way with the ladies.” “If you’d actually confess more than once a century, they’d be all over you.”_

Suddenly, Akashi had a feeling that plenty of young women _did_ notice Furihata. He was shy—but it was in a good-natured, agreeable way that just made him more endearing. It was only a matter of time, before Furihata’s wish came true and he found someone who truly appreciated him.

A hollow ache rose in Akashi’s chest. He firmly pushed the feeling away. He knew what it was.

He often felt something like loneliness, at the thought of his friends finding romantic partners. He still didn’t know if he wanted that kind of love for himself. Friendship was more important to him, it seemed. But it was unreasonable, and terribly unkind, to want others to feel the same way he did. Akashi wanted all of his friends to be happy.

Especially Furihata. Akashi couldn’t think of anyone more deserving.

In all honesty, the idea was a little more painful than Akashi expected… He had never been so close with a friend before. He doubted their closeness would continue, if Furihata were dating.

But that was being selfish. And childish, for that matter. Wrongly wishing to monopolize a good friend’s time.

Yes, that was surely it.

Akashi made his best effort to put these troubling thoughts aside, as they left the shop. He hadn’t managed to finish all of his kakigori—he hadn’t been as hungry as he expected, for whatever reason—but he still felt pleasantly satisfied as he walked alongside Furihata.

The sun had begun to set. The subtle flush that bloomed across the sky made the neighborhood look rosy and warm. Furihata pointed out the playground in the park they had passed earlier. He mentioned that he and his brother used to play there after school. Akashi gazed at the colorful structure, almost absently.

All of this was like something out of a story. A cozy little neighborhood. Friendly people with shared histories. Akashi found himself imagining three children from a photo, and how they must have played together on this very street.

“You and Mari-san seem to know each other very well,” he said, as a hot breeze gusted past his face. The trees rustled overhead, balanced between a maze of telephone wires.

“Huh?” Furihata turned his head toward him. “Oh. Yeah, I guess we do.”

He chuckled, eyeing the pavement. Akashi wished he knew what was going through his friend’s mind. Even though he wasn’t sure why he was so curious.

“She seems like a nice person,” he added. Which was true. After the initial awkwardness, Mari had spoken to Akashi a few times. Not nearly as much as she had to Furihata, but she seemed genuinely interested in his replies.

Furihata nodded. “Yup, she’s cool.”

There was a small silence. Furihata twisted the handles of the shopping bag, swinging it about in a distracted sort of way.

“She’s even prettier now than in her photograph,” Akashi added in a knowing voice. “And she still likes you, apparently. Though I suppose that’s to be expected, given your brother’s stories.”

He smiled at Furihata, who had stopped in his tracks. “Wait, what?”

“You didn’t know? I thought it was obvious.” Akashi couldn’t resist teasing him. The astonished look on his face was downright charming. “I’m sure I’ve heard a premise for a shoujo manga along those lines. A young girl likes to kiss a neighborhood friend, they grow up and he frequents the kakigori shop where she works… Then a romance blossoms, presumably.”

He gave Furihata a good-humored smile. Furihata just laughed, to Akashi’s surprise. He shook his head.

“That’s…” He snorted. “I really don’t think so. Mari’s great, don’t get me wrong! But that was just stuff that happened when we were kids. We’ve never been anything but friends. And after today, well… I bet she’d be even less interested.”

He gave Akashi a meaningful look. One Akashi didn’t understand.

“What do you mean?” he said. “I thought your conversation went well enough.”

Furihata goggled at him.

“You…” He shook his head again. “You seriously have no idea, do you?”

Akashi tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. “It seems I don’t.”

Furihata’s expression softened, in a way Akashi couldn’t read. He shrugged a little, as they resumed walking past the playground.

“Anyway, she’s not around much lately,” he added. “She’s going to university out of town, so she only comes back to help her uncle for summer break. Plus… I think she’s pretty into her boyfriend. Since they’ve been a thing for two years.”

He eyed Akashi, sounding almost sly. Akashi, for his part, was taken aback. He hadn’t even considered that she might be involved with someone.

He really didn’t know much about these things, he realized suddenly. How dating or attraction worked, or what the ordinary dynamics were, among longtime friends of the opposite sex. Or friends in general, for that matter.

“Oh,” he said, smiling a little. “I see. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

“I mean, I’d really like a girlfriend, but I’m not _that_ desperate,” Furihata said, and Akashi knew by his tone of voice he was making a joke. He laughed along, feeling a strange lightness between his ribs. Light, but still a bit hollow.

Akashi hoped it wasn’t relief. He truly hoped he wasn’t that selfish.

They turned onto Furihata’s street, and reached his house. Sweat misted Akashi’s face, and he fanned himself with his collar. He was glad they were heading inside, what with the sweltering weather. Furihata opened the front door for him—Akashi thanked him again—and they both edged into the narrow genkan.

A delicious scent was wafting through the house. Sweet and warm and faintly spicy. Akashi had never smelled anything quite like it. He stood motionless, too startled to continue taking off his shoes. He turned to Furihata.

“That smells wonderful,” he said, eyes wide. “Is that really curry rice?”

Furihata was grinning again. “I probably should’ve warned you. My mom makes the best food in the universe. Nothing fancy, but still.”

“If that tastes the least bit like it smells, I’m inclined to believe you,” Akashi replied.

They had just put on their slippers when Furihata’s mother hurried into the room. She was still wearing a cooking apron, and was carrying some towels. “Welcome back! I was just going to start the bathwater for you, Akashi-kun.”

“Oh. I—” Akashi knew there were Japanese families who started taking their baths before dinner. He hadn’t given it much thought, though, since it was summertime. “I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble on my account, Furihata-san—”

“No, no. You’re our guest,” she said in her brisk way. “And it’s been so hot out. I can’t have a guest feeling uncomfortable at the dinner table.”

She was already heading down the hall again.

“Sorry.” Furihata looked sheepish, but his eyes were twinkling. “She fusses over everybody. It’s kind of her thing? If you don’t want a bath, you can just rinse off. Come on, let’s get your stuff.”

He led the way up the narrow stairs.

“It doesn’t seem right for me to go first,” Akashi said, as he followed Furihata into his bedroom. “To disrupt your family ritual, when I’m already intruding.”

“It’s really okay though! My mom would freak out if you went later. And we switch the order all the time anyway. I’m probably going after you’re done.”

Akashi nodded hesitantly. He rifled through his overnight bag, and frowned. Despite his best efforts to bring everything he needed, it seemed that he had overlooked something. He glanced over at Furihata, who was retrieving what appeared to be a pair of loose gym shorts and a t-shirt from his closet.

Akashi took out a smaller bag with the toiletries he brought. He doubted he needed a comb, and it might be awkward to use his own soap. But the shampoo would see some use at least. He thought for a moment, still frowning. He took a spare pair of underwear and slipped it into the smaller pouch, then zipped up the larger bag and set it aside.

“Aren’t you getting a change of clothes?” Furihata said when he looked up.

“I considered it,” Akashi said, hovering in the middle of the room. “But I believe the nightclothes I brought would be out of place at the dinner table. And I’d rather save the other clothes I brought for tomorrow.”

“Oh, right,” Furihata said. “That makes sense.”

“But it’s not a problem,” Akashi hastened to add. “I can change later on.”

“What? No way, It’ll feel a lot better if you have fresh clothes after your bath. Here, you can borrow some of mine.” Furihata was digging through his closet drawers again. Akashi tried to protest, but Furihata didn’t seem to be listening.

The next thing Akashi knew, a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt were thrust into his arms. Akashi had no idea if it would be polite or rude to refuse Furihata. Or if it was strange to be borrowing a friend’s clothes like this, or not strange at all. (Well, it was certainly strange to him, but that was another matter.)

Whatever the case, he accepted them. He wasn’t sure what else to do. Other than thank Furihata, which he did.

“You’re welcome,” Furihata said brightly, as he led him back downstairs.

He showed Akashi into the bathroom. A tiny, almost nonexistent space held the sink, next to what looked like a cabinet. Inside was the tub, and a plastic stool sat beside the shower spout. Akashi had never actually seen a bathtub like this in person. Small and square, with a cover to keep the water warm. It looked like something out of a television program.

Furihata’s mother was turning off the water. “Everything’s ready. The towels are over there, and I put out some soap. Do you need shampoo, or anything else?”

“Thank you, but I brought my own,” Akashi said.

“All right. Take as long as you’d like, there’s no rush,” she said, and Furihata gave a little wave as she closed the door behind her.

Akashi had to admit, it felt odd to be using another family’s bathroom. He had used public bathrooms at training camps before. But those had a communal atmosphere that was more like an onsen. This was small, and quiet. Intimate, somehow.

For the first time in hours, Akashi was alone—and yet he could hear the television, and Furihata talking to his mother. He was struck again by how close the rooms in the house were to one another.

Akashi took off his clothes and folded them. Then he sat down on the stool to rinse off. He breathed a sigh as cool water ran over his face and down his back. It was a profound relief, after the heat of the day. He lathered up the soap, and set about cleaning himself.

He eyed the tub, the soft steam rising from the water’s surface. Usually he only took showers at home. He used to take baths when he was younger, but… He didn’t have time to sit and soak in a bathtub, certainly not long enough to justify the water use.

As a result, he hadn’t taken a bath alone in years. He didn’t want to refuse the Furihatas’ hospitality, however.

Akashi eased into the bath. He couldn’t help but chuckle. This was the sort of tub where a person had to sit with their legs curled up. It was a bit awkward, but he fit without any trouble. He leaned back and shut his eyes. The warm water felt surprisingly pleasant.

His thoughts drifted. Somehow, all of this reminded him of when he once took baths regularly. Of sitting on a stool with childish eagerness, while long, graceful fingers worked shampoo into his hair and kept the suds from his face. Then splashing in a tub filled with bubbles, and playing hide-and-seek in the water. And finally being wrapped up in a robe and carried off to bed.

Akashi opened his eyes. He was uncertain how much time had passed—he felt like he’d slipped into some kind of daydream—but he didn’t want to take too long. He rose out of the bath, and toweled himself off.

Akashi slid Furihata’s shirt over his head. Borrowing slippers was one thing, he thought, as he peered into the steam-mottled mirror. But it was another level of strangeness, to be wearing someone else’s clothes.

The clothes even smelled like Furihata. Akashi hadn’t fully realized that Furihata had a scent. It was faint, pleasantly light. Fabric softener, mingled with the indescribable scent of his house, and something warmer underneath.

The clothes were comfortable, in any case. The fit was loose, and the fabric was soft, gently worn. Most importantly, Akashi wouldn’t look out of place. That was what mattered, he reminded himself. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t thought to bring a spare t-shirt and shorts, after all his meticulous planning.

Akashi gathered up his things and left the bathroom. Feeling flushed, and relaxed. He had just stepped into the kitchen and glanced around, when a tousled brown head popped up behind the sofa.

“Hey, you’re done,” Furihata said. Akashi wondered how on earth he had noticed him so quickly. “Was everything okay?”

“Yes, of course,” Akashi said. He took care to smile at his mother as well. She was putting something in the refrigerator, and smiled back. “Thank you.”

“Great! My turn.” Furihata sprang up, and grabbed his change of clothes.

His brother said from the sofa, “Don’t take forever, or we’re gonna eat without you.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Furihata sounded annoyed, but he beamed at Akashi as he passed. The bathroom door shut behind him.

Akashi excused himself from the room, with the intention of returning his clothes to his bag. He walked toward the front of the house. Just as he reached the stairwell, the front door creaked open.

A middle-aged man stumbled into the genkan. He wore a rumpled suit, and an unfashionably large pair of glasses, which made the whites of his eyes look even larger. His hair was disheveled, and his thin shoulders slumped as he removed his shoes. He was every bit the image of an overworked Japanese salaryman.

He also looked more like Furihata than anyone Akashi had seen today, so Akashi greeted him accordingly.

“Pardon me,” he said. “Are you Furihata-kun’s father? I’m Akashi Seijuurou.”

He bowed as he said this. The older man seemed to have frozen in place. A shoe still dangled from his hand, forgotten.

“Your son was so generous as to invite me into your home,” Akashi added, in the politest Japanese he could. “I hope you can forgive my intrusion.”

For a moment, the man didn’t react at all. He just stared with his overly wide eyes, as though Akashi was some mythical creature who had materialized in his front room. The shoe dropped to the floor. Akashi was starting to wonder if Furihata had told his father to expect a guest, when the man stiffened and bowed his head.

“Ah, yes, yes,” he said, in a voice so soft Akashi almost couldn’t hear it. “Please forgive my rudeness. Furihata Yoshio.”

He bowed a second time, clutching his briefcase to his chest. Then he bowed again, and even after he was done, his head continued to bob. It was an automatic motion, like he had spent most of his life bowing to people.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Furihata-san,” Akashi said, in a voice he hoped would put him at ease. Akashi was just a guest, after all. Certainly not anyone that Furihata’s father needed to defer to, as head of the household.

“Y-yes. Very nice to meet you,” the man echoed, avoiding his eyes. He shuffled onto the wooden floor, sidestepping Akashi with another bow, and ducked into the hall. And just like that, he was gone.

Akashi was vividly reminded of his early interactions with Furihata. Most of them had ended with the other boy hurrying away as fast as he could. (Or, well, fainting.) He tried to tell himself it wasn’t the same. Furihata’s father was obviously tired. It must have been stressful for him to come home to a guest.

Whatever the case, Akashi genuinely hoped he hadn’t just frightened a man old enough to be his father.

He went upstairs to Furihata’s room, and put his clothes away. Akashi was studying the JR maps on the wall when Furihata rejoined him, pink-cheeked from his bath and smelling of soap. They played another round of shougi, until Furihata’s mother called them for dinner.

Akashi had honestly never sat down to a meal like this one. Furihata’s mother insisted that Akashi sit at the head of the table. Furihata’s parents each sat on their own side, while Furihata and his brother were crammed next to each other. Which Akashi wouldn’t have thought possible, given how small the table was, but they seemed to think nothing of it.

Furihata’s mother didn’t do much in the way of sitting, however. Instead she hovered, serving food and inspecting everyone’s plates. Unsurprisingly, she served Akashi first. She spooned out the curry. Large chunks of beef, carrots, and potatoes swam in the golden brown sauce, alongside a fluffy mound of rice.

“Are you really sure this is enough?” she said, after he had assured her it was. “Well, have seconds when you’re done. I made plenty. I know how much you boys need to eat.”

As a matter of fact, Akashi tended to eat less than many people he knew. But he was unusually hungry—he supposed it was that exquisite smell—and he ate eagerly. The curry was even more delicious than he could have hoped. The sauce was particularly mouth-watering, rich with spices.

Akashi remembered hearing that curry was good to eat in the summer. It was an appetite stimulant, supposedly. This certainly was, he thought, as he accepted an offer from Furihata’s mother for more. All the while, Furihata’s family was talking, with an everyday familiarity he found fascinating.

“Kintarou, would you _please_ put away your phone?”

“Sure, sure. Just a sec.”

“You said that ten minutes ago.”

“Ooh, Kouki’s tattling, what a surprise.”

“Wha—shut up! I don’t tattle. Jeez.”

“Kid, you have literally been tattling on me nonstop since 1995.”

“Well maybe that’s because you deserve it!”

“Boys, don’t fight. We have a guest.”

Akashi did his best not to laugh. He wasn’t used to hearing so much chatter at the dinner table. Usually, he ate his meals in silence. He couldn’t help but smile, as he listened to their quick-paced exchanges.

Furihata’s father spoke less than the rest of them. He mostly nodded, coupled with the occasional one-word reply. Neither his wife nor his sons seemed to think anything of it, however.

Then halfway through the meal, he turned and asked Akashi a few questions. Simple ones, about where he went to school. Akashi made sure to ask some in return. Furihata’s father seemed surprised at how much Akashi knew about what his job entailed, once he mentioned his company and department.

At one point Akashi noticed Furihata watching him, with a smile on his face. He wasn’t certain what had prompted this, but he smiled back.

It wasn’t long before they were saying thanks for the meal. Furihata’s mother started clearing away the plates, with Furihata helping her. (Akashi tried to join in, but received what he could only call a scolding.) He finished one final bite of curry, and set his plate aside. Furihata’s mother stopped beside him.

“Did you get enough? I hope it was all right,” she said. She actually sounded worried, Akashi noted, with no small amount of disbelief.

“Yes, thank you,” he said. “I haven’t eaten that much in ages. It’s the best curry I’ve had. How do you make it so well?”

He said this in his warmest voice. She looked downright shocked. “Oh, it’s nothing, really! Just a basic recipe.”

Furihata leaned down beside him and mock-whispered, “She says that, but she makes her own roux. That’s why it’s amazing.”

“Hush, Kouki.” She swatted at him with the corner of her apron, then repeated, “It’s really nothing!”

She scurried away with the plates, but Akashi was quite certain he saw her beaming.

Furihata’s brother was typing on his phone again. He slid the phone into his pocket, and rose from the table. “Welp, thanks for dinner. I’m heading out.”

Furihata’s mother frowned. She looked suspicious. “What? Where?” She shook her head, before he could answer. “Sit down, young man. You’re not going anywhere. We’re—we’re having dessert tonight.”

“Oh yeah? Nice.” Furihata’s brother wasn’t the only one who looked intrigued by this development. (He had also resumed his seat, Akashi noticed.) “What’d you make?”

Furihata’s mother hesitated. She was fidgeting with a teakettle. “I didn’t. Akashi-kun was so kind as to bring us a gift, and I thought we should all eat it together. If—if that’s all right with you, Akashi-kun.”

Akashi was surprised, and delighted. This was the first time she’d mentioned the gift he brought. He hoped this arrangement meant she liked it. “Yes, of course. Would you like my help?”

“No, no.” She waved a refusal. “Just sit tight, while I make some tea.”

She turned and started filling the kettle with water. Akashi smiled. She obviously knew which beverage would go well with the sweets he chose. Akashi had thought of the gift because Furihata once told him how often he ate Japanese-style sweets at home.

(Akashi had purchased sweets for Furihata’s mother before, as a matter of fact… He didn’t know how the dango had been received, since he had given them to Furihata. Still, he remembered that day in Kyoto fondly, and wanted to honor the memory.)

Furihata edged his chair closer to him. “So what’d you bring? I didn’t see it before.” He looked curious.

“It’s nothing very remarkable. Just some youkan.” Akashi was about to add that he knew youkan was old-fashioned, and not to everyone’s taste, when Furihata’s mother spoke in the pause.

“It’s summer youkan from Toraya,” she said.

A teacup clattered as she set it down. A faint noise, but Akashi caught it. She sounded almost agitated, but he didn’t understand why. His heart dipped in an uneasy way. Was something wrong after all?

“Hold up.” Furihata’s brother knit his brows. “Toraya? Isn’t that _the_ place to get youkan? Fancy shop, been around for like a million years. Personally served the Emperor back in Kyoto? That one?”

Akashi turned to him, startled. He didn’t know many people around his age who knew much about such a traditional brand. “You’re familiar with it?”

“Well, yeah. Mom’s obsessed with wagashi. Not like we can usually affor—I mean, uh. Yeah.” He shut his mouth abruptly, with a wary glance at the kitchen.

Akashi frowned, perplexed. He was trying to think of a polite way to determine if the gift was unwanted somehow—he didn’t want anyone to feel forced to eat it, and in front of him no less—when Furihata spoke again.

“That’s really cool.” His eyes shone. It reminded Akashi of other times that he had surprised Furihata with a gift. “Thanks, Akashi-kun.”

At the warmth in his friend’s voice, Akashi felt himself relax a little. He couldn’t have done anything too unfortunate, if Furihata looked so pleased.

“It was nothing. Do you like youkan?” he asked, hopeful.

“Yeah! We all do,” Furihata said, and his father and brother nodded. Akashi relaxed even further. He hadn’t expected such a positive reaction. In all honesty, this was turning out better than he had imagined.

Furihata’s mother opened the refrigerator. She took out a paper-wrapped bundle, and a plateful of smaller packages. (Summer sweets of this type were best eaten cold.) She switched off the kettle, and poured the water into a teapot. Furihata’s brother leapt to his feet.

“I gotta see these.” He grabbed the larger bundle, ignoring his mother’s scolding expression. He brought it over to the table, and inspected the label. “Summer edition jelly… ‘Peak of a Cloud.’ Yeah, I don’t know what that is, but it sounds epic.”

He unwrapped the bundle, and his eyes grew wide. His mother rushed over with a serving plate. Carefully, he set the firm block down. The kanten jelly was dyed pale blue, as clear and bright as gleaming water. A puffy bloom of white ran through it, in the exact shape of a cloud drifting through the summer sky.

“Wow,” Furihata breathed. “It’s like glass. Can you really eat that?”

He looked entranced. Akashi felt his chest swell. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed seeing the honest appreciation on Furihata’s face, when something truly amazed him. Next to him, Furihata’s brother cheered.

“All right! You got the good stuff. Mizu-youkan.” He was looking through the smaller packages. Each tiny plastic container had a differently colored label. “Dude, look at these flavors. There’s two kinds of azuki.”

He showed the packages to Furihata and his father, who both seemed impressed. Furihata’s mother set down the tea tray with a thud. They all looked at her.

“I—I’m sorry.” Her voice wavered, as she gave the rest of her family a narrow stare. “But I think we’re all being very rude. This was a lovely gift, Akashi-kun. It’s… it’s too extravagant. Really.”

She shook her head. She sounded like she was having difficulty speaking. This wasn’t just the standard gushing praise for a gift, Akashi realized suddenly. She meant it.

All at once, Akashi understood his mistake. With startling clarity.

Something was indeed wrong. It had been weighing on Furihata’s mother for hours, ever since she opened the gift.

“Mom—” Furihata’s voice was quiet, but urgent. She shook her head again, sharply. Like she already knew what he wanted to say, but she didn’t accept it.

“I just don’t want our guest to think we’re trying to take advantage!” she blurted out. “I—excuse me. I’m sorry. I’m saying too much.”

She wrung her hands. The room had gone silent. Akashi swallowed, hard. He hadn’t even considered that the gift could be too expensive. For him, this was a standard temiyage, only impressive enough to show regard for the recipient.

But he had a very different life than the Furihatas. And now they might feel pressured to return the gift in kind, when they most likely couldn’t afford to do so.

And if they couldn’t repay him… Of course they would worry he might think badly of them, or suspect ulterior motives. It was a perfectly natural concern. Even though it couldn’t be further from the truth.

Akashi hurriedly rose from his chair. He faced Furihata’s mother.

“I’m terribly sorry, Furihata-san.” He bowed. “This was my mistake. I never would have brought such a gift, if I thought for a moment that it would cause you any distress. I sincerely apologize for my insensitivity.”

He cringed. He really should have known better. Furihata had told him before, that he was raised to refuse gifts he couldn’t repay in kind. By his mother in particular.

Akashi raised his head, and set his jaw. Mustering all his conviction.

“But you shouldn’t feel indebted to me for accepting it,” he said steadily. “Not at all. As far as I’m concerned, this gift was a poor attempt at repaying _my_ debts. I would be dismayed if you tried to reciprocate.”

His mind raced, as he tried to think how to explain. He knew he was speaking too directly, but he felt almost desperate for her to understand. The last thing he wanted was for Furihata’s family to feel they owed him something, due to his clumsy error.

The mere idea was simply ridiculous.

“You’ve opened your home to me, and shown so much hospitality. Those things are priceless, whether you realize it or not. But, even more than that…” He faltered, and glanced over his shoulder. “Furihata-kun has done so much for me, in the short time we’ve known each other. I could never repay him, for the gifts he’s given me.”

Furihata was gazing up at him. His wide eyes were soft. Awestruck, almost. Akashi felt his throat twist, as he considered just how true his words were.

Beside Furihata, his father and brother were motionless. They gaped at Akashi, like he was a bomb that had just detonated at their dinner table. Akashi faced Furihata’s mother again. She seemed equally shell-shocked.

“Gifts,” she repeated. “That _Kouki_ gave you.”

Her voice was flat. Disbelieving.

“That’s correct,” Akashi said. “Which is why, when he invited me here, I couldn’t help but want to give his family something they could enjoy together. That was the only thought in my mind, when I purchased it.”

He hesitated, lowering his eyes.

“I… I hope it might be acceptable to you, Furihata-san, to regard it in that way as well,” he said, in an anxious voice. “It truly would put me at ease, if you would be so kind as to consider doing so.”

He fell silent, waiting. There was a fragile pause.

Furihata’s mother looked like she was at a complete and utter loss. Behind her, Furihata’s brother was mouthing something to Furihata, something suspiciously like, “ _Smooth_.” Furihata shook his head.

His mother was wringing her hands again. She glanced over at her husband, and something unspoken passed between them. Her keen eyes softened suddenly.

“Yes, of course,” she said. “There was no need for you to apologize, Akashi-kun. Your gift was very thoughtful. And—and of course we’ll enjoy it.”

Akashi let out a breath in relief.

“Thank you,” he said. “I sincerely appreciate that.”

They were all giving him odd looks again. Akashi didn’t fully understand why. Furihata’s brother cleared his throat.

“So, can we put the epic candy into our mouths now or what?”

Furihata snorted. There was a hushed sound, that might have been his father doing the same. Furihata’s mother bristled, glaring at them all. “Not if you don’t _behave_.”

Furihata’s brother scrambled to sit, hands folded in front of him like a penitent schoolboy. Akashi barely held back a laugh. And in spite of her obvious annoyance, Furihata’s mother seemed more at her ease too.

She served the green tea, and took out a stack of small plates. They all chose a flavor of mizu-youkan. (They insisted that Akashi go first, so he selected the flavor with a duplicate, since he liked them all.)

Furihata’s mother faced the gleaming block of kanten jelly. She raised a knife to cut it, with the oddest look on her face. Akashi was somehow reminded of the first time he had seen Furihata on a basketball court, all quivering nerves.

“Ahh, no. I can’t.” She covered her face with her free hand.

“What’s the matter, darling?” Furihata’s father asked, in his quiet way.

She shook her head. “It’s too beautiful. I can’t. You do it.”

She held out the knife, almost meekly. Furihata’s father took it, with agreeable readiness. The rest of the family watched, as he sliced the blade through the blue jelly. They eagerly admired how each crystalline piece looked in the light. And as he watched them, Akashi felt an increasing amount of disbelief.

He wasn’t used to a reaction like this at all. It was customary to praise a gift. But the Furihatas were so easy to read, and open. Their appreciation was entirely honest.

They weren’t just being polite. Or impressed, even. They were genuinely _enjoying_ the gift. Akashi knew far too many people, often through his family’s connections, who didn’t seem to enjoy much of anything.

And no one seemed happier than Furihata’s mother, who wore a blissful smile as she scooped up some jelly with her youji pick, and took her first bite. (Akashi had certainly picked the right gift, if the family even took the trouble to use youji picks instead of spoons.) There had never been any danger of her not enjoying the gift, Akashi realized. Even when she felt guilty for doing so.

In that moment, Akashi was reminded of someone else he knew, who had enjoyed traditional sweets. She had openly enjoyed so much in life. Always praising how wonderful something was, regardless of its prestige or cost.

She had been one of the wealthiest women in Japan. But she had loved nothing more than walking through a crowded park to admire the cherry blossoms, or waiting in a line full of tourists to buy the most popular yatsuhashi in Kyoto, or sitting down to tea in a tiny café.

It was one of the things about her Akashi missed the most. Because it had reminded him to enjoy those parts of life too.

Akashi had eaten sweets from Toraya before. But somehow, as he sat enjoying them with Furihata’s family, they were even sweeter than he remembered.

Later, after Furihata’s mother put away the leftover youkan and Furihata’s brother had left the house—Furihata whispered,” He’s seeing his _girlfriend_ ,” while his mother muttered a vague warning about decent behavior—Furihata and Akashi headed upstairs again. Furihata paused near the top of the stairwell, stopping Akashi in his tracks.

“Hey, um…” He looked bashful, suddenly. “Thanks. What you said to my mom earlier… All of that was really nice.”

Akashi smiled. He felt rather embarrassed as well, as he recalled his fervent declaration. “It was nothing. Only the truth.”

“But you don’t really feel like you owe me anything. Right?” Furihata sounded troubled. “Because I still owe you for plenty of stuff.”

Akashi understood what Furihata meant. He had given Furihata certain things in the past, that he knew his friend couldn’t repay with money. But…

“You have more than repaid me, as far as I’m concerned,” he replied. “I meant what I said. I’m indebted to you. And I hope I can repay you by being as good a friend as you are to me.”

Furihata peered down at him, from the higher step. His eyes glistened, in the half-light from the hallway above them. He reached out and took Akashi by the hand, and gently squeezed his palm.

“I bet that won’t be a problem,” he said. With a hushed warmth that Akashi could feel, echoing deep inside him.

Akashi hoped Furihata was right. He certainly never wanted to lose his friendship with Furihata, or do anything that could put it in danger. Their connection was already too precious, at least to him. He was even afraid, at times, that he would do something to ruin it. That somehow, despite all his best efforts, it would slip through his fingers.

But whenever Furihata looked at him that way, Akashi found it difficult to be anything but overwhelmingly glad, that their paths had crossed. He was so grateful they had met. That Furihata was sharing so much of his life with him.

Somehow, he was starting to feel as though he couldn’t get enough of it.


	4. Out of Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to my lovely readers! I’m still working on a few of my replies to your amazing comments, but they should be done soon. As always, thank you so much for reading, leaving kudos, and/or commenting. <3 It really does mean the world to me.
> 
> I had so much fun writing this chapter! For my chapter notes, you can check out my Tumblr post [here](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/post/156923166382/notes-for-storming-the-castle-chapter-4). I also have [a Pinterest inspiration board](https://www.pinterest.com/katinsocks/storming-the-castle-part-i/) about the first half of this fic, for anyone who's interested. This chapter is again from Akashi’s PoV, but we’ll be back to Furihata for the next one. Thanks for reading, and I really hope you enjoy it. <3

_Though the family was not wealthy by any means, they were generous with what they had. They shared their supper with the prince, and a bed. And though they did not seem to know the nature of their power, they freely shared their magic with him too._

_The prince basked in the family’s warmth and light. As the night wore on, a long-wounded part of him began to heal, simply by being near to them as they cast their spells. Especially to the second son, whose glowing smile held the most warmth of all._

_But the more the prince spoke to the bright-hearted boy, and watched him tend to his candle, the more a cold and poisonous dread crept over him…_

_He realized that he should not have come._

_For he had known a magic like this too, and so he knew just how fragile it could be._

* * *

Akashi returned with Furihata to his room. They glanced at the clock. It was close to nine, Akashi saw with considerable surprise. He hadn’t really felt the time passing.

“So, I was thinking…” Furihata shifted on his feet. “We could play some more games, if you want. Or we could watch a movie?”

“Either one sounds enjoyable,” Akashi said. “Did you have a particular film in mind?”

“Um, well…” Furihata wore an odd expression, a wry sort of grin.

He bent to retrieve a bag from underneath his bed. It was the same one Mari had given him earlier. He rifled through it, then held up a video cassette case. On the case was a cartoon illustration of a mermaid perched on a rock. Above it read, _“The Little Mermaid.”_

Akashi chuckled, recalling their phone conversation several days ago. “You actually went to the trouble of borrowing it?”

“Maybe!” Furihata looked bashful. “You said you hadn’t seen it before, so… I thought it could be sort of fun? I used to borrow this from Mari a lot.”

“It was very kind of her to find it for us.” Akashi glanced at the bag, with raised brows. “Just out of curiosity, what else is in there?”

“Her family has a lot of the Disney movies on DVD. They’re her little sister’s. Not that we have to spend all night watching them or anything, but…”

Furihata held out the bag. Akashi peered inside, rummaging through the colorful cases with amusement. “I’ve never seen any of the Disney films, apart from Beauty and the Beast. Though I don’t recall it very well.”

“Really? Why just that one?”

“Well, it was nominated for the highest Academy Award.”

Furihata gave him an odd look. “That was your reason for picking a Disney movie? How old were you?” Before Akashi could answer—the answer was five, or possibly six—he shook his head and said, “Okay, that’s it. We’re watching some.”

He hurried out into the hall and reappeared, lugging an old television in both arms. Akashi rushed to help him, though it wasn’t an especially large set. Furihata then brought in a VCR, and they set about plugging everything in.

“All right, so… Little Mermaid, then Cinderella.” Furihata laid out the collection of tapes and DVDs on the floor. “Then you get to pick. Except Bambi. Bambi’s in there but we’re _not_ watching it, because _no_. Maybe not Dumbo either? Everything else is fine. Also, when my brother asks us tomorrow if we were watching Disney movies in here, we’re lying.”

He made a face.

“Your brother isn’t home,” Akashi observed.

“Yeah, and he’ll find out anyway. Somehow.” Furihata rolled his eyes. “Even if we stop before he gets back.”

Akashi laughed. “Very well. I accept your terms.”

Furihata grinned back at him. He inserted the tape into the VCR, and forwarded through the previews. They settled onto the rug beside the bed, sitting side by side, with their backs pressed against the frame. Though the screen was small and blurry, the hand-drawn animation looked surprisingly beautiful. The opening music swelled and a ship rolled into view.

Furihata cringed, at one point early in the film. “I always hated it when her dad got mad. I used to run and hide whenever he started yelling.”

Akashi’s lips twitched. The character of King Triton did not strike him as especially intimidating, but he supposed it was different to a child. Likely to Furihata in particular. “He does seem quite strict.”

“Yeah. Also, I’m Flounder in this movie.”

Akashi muffled a laugh. The easily frightened fish did share more than a few traits with his friend, he realized.

The story moved quickly. Akashi was intrigued by the ways it deviated from the original tale. More emphasis was placed on the relationship between the mermaid and her father, he noticed. Meanwhile, the portrayal of her interest in the human world, even as she fumbled to understand their customs, was quite charming.

Akashi couldn’t help but note the absorbed look on Furihata’s face, during one of her songs. “Am I getting the sense that you were once a bit in love with her?”

“I—no! I was just— _Shut up_.” Furihata’s cheeks turned a shade surprisingly close to the mermaid’s voluminous hair.

“Well, she’s very pretty.”

“Shh. We are not talking about my dumb childhood crushes right now.”

The mermaid saw the prince for the first time, and saved him from the storm. Akashi wondered, as he often had, if falling in love was supposed to be like that. Obviously the timeline in such films was unrealistic, and what qualified as ‘love’ was debatable. But Akashi was under the impression people usually felt _something_ , when they first encountered someone they found attractive.

He never really had... Sometimes he doubted he would ever feel that way.

The mermaid bargained away her voice to the witch—that sequence was rather dark, for a children’s movie—and met the prince again, this time unable to speak. Her animal friends then tried to help her gain the prince’s love. She spent the day with the prince, culminating in a boat ride while a comical amount of birds and fish sang around them, in an effort to persuade him to kiss her.

Furihata groaned aloud, to Akashi’s amusement, when the song reached its inevitable conclusion. “Urgh. All the kissing awkwardness is so relatable.”

“In what way?” Akashi asked.

“I dunno… You’ve never had that thing, where you want to kiss somebody, but you’re not sure if you should and you just _can’t_?”

“I can’t say I have,” Akashi said slowly. “But I’ve never kissed anyone.”

“Oh. Right.” Furihata turned from the screen, and eyed him with a soft frown. “Really? Never?”

Akashi shook his head. He assumed a bizarre courage test in middle school didn’t count. Those kisses were no more than a lighting-quick tap—on the cheek, for the most part—and they were with his friends. The entire incident was nothing more than a joke, really.

In any case, Akashi hadn’t done any of the kissing himself. He had only been the dare.

Furihata looked like he wanted to ask him something more, but they were distracted by the film again. The witch had changed into a dark-haired doppelganger of the mermaid, and was bewitching the prince with her voice.

Akashi’s thoughts wandered. He had never really considered that Furihata had much experience with kissing. But obviously he did. He’d been kissed as early as elementary school, and even had a girlfriend at one point.

Akashi absently wondered how many people Furihata had kissed, if he knew much about how to do it… Though he wasn’t sure why he was contemplating this. It wasn’t his business at all. He glanced at Furihata’s mouth.

His friend had slender lips. A bit small, very pink.

Why did it feel odd, to think about those lips having been against someone else’s?

The plot of the movie escalated, to a stormy battle at sea with the witch, and the wedding with the happy couple at the end.

“That was an interesting adaptation,” Akashi said, as the credits rolled. “It seemed to me it was about her father’s love for her, more than anything.”

“Yeah. Kind of great, huh?” Furihata reached over to stop the tape. “He’s so harsh for most of it, but he just wants to protect her. And he did everything he could for her, in the end.”

They stretched while the tape rewound. Furihata started debating the best viewing arrangement for Cinderella. Mari had lent them a DVD version of the film.

“I could get the DVD player, but it’s a pain to unhook.” He studied the case. “Maybe we should just use my laptop? It’s a piece of junk—it used to be my brother’s—but it plays movies okay.”

“That does seem like the most convenient arrangement.”

“All right, cool.” Furihata took out a laptop from a well-worn case under his desk. To Akashi’s surprise, he then flopped onto his bed. “We can just watch like this. It’s easier with the screen.”

Akashi blinked. Was Furihata saying he should join him on the bed? He was tempted to ask if there was even room for them both—but no, that seemed rude. Tentatively, he perched on the mattress’s edge.

Furihata was lying on his stomach, as he logged into the laptop and slid the DVD into the tray. He glanced over at Akashi. “You want a pillow? It’s comfier this way.”

He held out a spare pillow. Akashi hesitated, still confused. In the end, he did what Furihata was doing.

He lay down beside Furihata, with the pillow tucked beneath his chest. The mattress settled, until they were so close their elbows touched. Furihata had clearly done this with friends before. It didn’t seem strange to him at all.

Akashi, on the other hand, couldn’t recall ever being this close to a friend. Certainly not for an extended period of time. He kept noticing Furihata’s arm, brushing against his. He tried to be polite and keep more space between them, but it wasn’t really possible.

The movie began. Their bodies shifted even closer as they watched the screen. Now they were shoulder to shoulder, practically leaning into each other.

Cinderella began to sing, as she rose from her bed and prepared for a day of chores. Akashi did his best to focus on the scene, to appreciate the old-fashioned charm of the music and artwork. Yet a part of his brain never stopped being aware of how close he was to Furihata.

Even when he fixed his gaze on the laptop, he could still feel Furihata beside him. The gentle heat of his body, the rhythm of his breathing.

Sometimes Furihata would comment on the movie—laughing at the mice, complaining about how awful the stepmother was—but Akashi only vaguely grasped it. He was too distracted by how close Furihata’s voice sounded. How it was like a hum, vibrating through him.

Gradually, Akashi grew more comfortable. It was odd to be so near to a friend, certainly, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The opposite, actually…

The longer he remained there, as he and Furihata traded smiles that were only a few inches apart, the more he felt the most complete, blissful sense of _contentment_.

It was almost like a kind of spell. Every muscle in Akashi’s body was relaxed. He felt warm all over, from head to toe. He was pleasantly full from dinner, clean from the bath. And he was slowly sinking into the mattress, chin resting upon the pillow. Bare feet dangling over the edge of the bed.

Furihata seemed so at ease too. Akashi had never seen him like this, limp and lounging, with his tousled brown head lowered onto his pillow. He had sunk so far into its soft contours that Akashi could only see his eyes and nose. And the dimpling edge of his smile, whenever he turned to look his way.

Part of Akashi hadn’t believed it was possible, for someone to be this comfortable around him. Certainly not when they were this close.

They were so close…

On the screen, Cinderella was crying. Her dress was in shreds, as she knelt beside a garden bench. A silhouette of sparkles transformed into her fairy godmother. The little old woman asked Cinderella if there really was nothing left to believe in, and told her she would go to the ball.

Then the godmother began to sing. The jaunty tune was so famous that Akashi knew he had heard it before…

_“It’ll do magic, believe it or not,_

_Bibbidi bobbidi boo!”_

At first Akashi thought the bouncing was just the song. All at once, he realized it was Furihata, swinging his legs in time to the music. Akashi tapped one of Furihata’s slim ankles with his foot. Furihata shot him a sheepish grin. Caught in the act, clearly. A laugh bubbled up, deep in Akashi’s chest.

And for no reason whatsoever, he swung his legs to the music too. The cuffs of Furihata’s borrowed sweatpants were riding up toward his knees, and their bare legs kept bumping together… And Akashi burst out laughing, and he didn’t have the slightest idea why.

“What’s so funny?” Furihata said, but he was laughing almost as hard.

_I don’t know. I really don't know. This is all so strange and these words don’t make any sense and neither do you—and I don’t want you to. And there is a pumpkin bouncing around on that screen, and everything is **ridiculous**._

_And wonderful._

Instead Akashi simply gasped out, “Nothing.”

The fairy godmother sent Cinderella to the ball, telling her to dance and be gay, and at some point Akashi managed to stop having intermittent giggling fits.

“I’m sorry, I don’t—” He shook his head. “That scene was very nice. I don’t know why I keep laughing.”

“Don’t apologize!” Furihata nudged his shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re having fun.”

“Ah, is that what this is? I never knew.” Akashi was joking, and Furihata clearly assumed he was.

But in a sense, he also wasn’t. Not entirely.

Akashi had calmed down, finally, and tried to refocus. Cinderella was at the ball now, dancing with her prince. The palace scenery was awash in tones of blue. The couple sang together, as they waltzed across balconies and into the garden.

_“So this is the miracle that I’ve been dreaming of…”_

Akashi watched the scene in a haze. He felt like he was floating.

At some point he sensed he was being watched. He smiled over at Furihata—only to realize he was already doing so. Furihata blinked at him, and Akashi found himself thinking, for no particular reason, that his friend had nice eyelashes. They were a soft brown, a bit curled.

The rest of the movie went by quickly, with Cinderella running from the ball, and her wicked stepmother locking her in her room. Akashi was somewhat startled when the glass slipper broke—that differed from the fairy tale he knew—but then Cinderella produced the other slipper, and all was right with the world.

“I think that one’s my favorite, of the older movies,” Furihata said, after the wedding took place and the credits rolled. “Snow White and Sleeping Beauty are great too. But I guess I just like this story the best?”

“It was an enjoyable version,” Akashi said, trying not to smile too much. He couldn’t think of another person he knew who would dare to admit out loud that he loved such a sweet, simple fairy tale.

It was adorable, honestly.

“So which one are you picking?” Furihata nodded to the pile of movies.

Akashi contemplated the brightly colored cases. He tried to consider each of their potential merits. His gaze kept wandering back to one in particular.

“What about Beauty and the Beast?” he said.

Furihata’s brows tipped upward. “Isn’t that the only one you’ve seen?”

“That’s true.” Akashi wasn’t sure how to explain his choice. It certainly wasn’t the logical one. “But I believe I remember enjoying it.”

Furihata chuckled. “Okay, sure. I’d like to see it again too.”

He loaded the DVD into the tray, and settled in beside Akashi once more. Chiming music played, as the film’s narrator told the story of a cruel prince who angered a sorceress, and was changed into a monster. Akashi gazed at the illustrations, in the style of stained glass.

He recalled how the tale intrigued him the first time he heard it. Though he was so young, the cautionary aspect of the story had still affected him strongly. Even now, Akashi could think of few things more frightening, than making a terrible mistake and pleading for forgiveness… Then being denied it, and forced to live with what you deserved instead.

And not just you, Akashi thought. But all the people who had followed you, and trusted your leadership. He had thought it horribly unfair, that the castle’s servants were transformed along with their prince.

The prologue ended. The story shifted to the heroine, as she left her cottage-style house and walked into town. The artwork truly was beautiful, Akashi thought. Something about the contrast between the quaint little village and the enchanted castle was fascinating.

Akashi found the heroine appealing too. Losing herself in books, daydreaming of adventure… But her most remarkable trait was her selflessness. How in a crucial, life-changing moment, she offered to take her father’s place as a prisoner. Her kindness changed the beast, as he began to fall in love with her.

Akashi appreciated that they didn’t fall in love at first sight. Something about the process being more gradual, of it slowly coming over them, was compelling to him. And the awkwardness of their courtship was even more charming than he recalled.

But each scene that showed the beast alone in the most ruined part of his castle—his constant assumption that the heroine would only ever fear him, and his belief she would leave in the end—was strangely heartbreaking.

When she did leave, the beast roared with sorrow. Akashi glanced beside him. Furihata’s eyes were distant, but his face bore an expression of deep sympathy. Akashi felt a curious stab of emotion, straight through his chest. The feeling was close to pain, but not quite.

Furihata had so much sympathy for other people, he thought. Even those who were nothing like him. Or fictional characters, for that matter.

Akashi admired that—treasured it—so much in him.

Suddenly, Akashi had a pressing urge to reach out and take Furihata’s hand. To be even closer to his friend. He didn’t know why he would want that, when they were already lying so near to one another… He wondered how Furihata would react if he did. Being so intimate with a friend wasn’t exactly normal.

Was it?

In the end, Akashi didn’t do anything. He simply watched the screen, and felt Furihata there beside him. A warm presence. Solid, and close. Soothing.

As the film neared its conclusion, Akashi lost track of time. Then the strangest thing began to happen. His eyelids lowered, and he was forced to stifle a yawn. It couldn’t have been later than one or two in the morning. He never fell asleep so early.

Yet the drowsy feeling only increased. Beside him, Furihata’s head was lowered, arms curled loosely over his pillow. Akashi found himself doing the same thing. He heard singing, and thought perhaps the movie might be over, that the beast had changed back into a prince…

The storm-tossed sea rose on every side. Akashi searched the dark, cresting waves, fighting his way through the water. He called Furihata’s name, again and again. But the roaring thunder drowned out the sound.

At last he had found the person he sought. Furihata was unconscious, sinking slowly into a watery grave. Akashi knew at once that this was no accident. He knew someone had tried to drown his friend.

Maybe even a doppelganger of his. He was known to have one, after all.

Frantically, Akashi hauled Furihata back up toward the surface. He reached the shore, and laid Furihata out on the sandy beach. He carefully brushed Furihata’s dripping hair from his face. Furihata coughed, and opened his eyes. When he saw Akashi, he seemed frightened.

Akashi ached to tell Furihata that it wasn’t him, the one who tried to drown him. He would never do such a thing, would never try to put him in danger… Somehow the words wouldn’t form.

But Furihata’s expression seemed to relax, the longer they looked at one another. They lay side by side in the soft sand. So close their noses almost touched.

Then Furihata couldn’t walk on his new legs, he was wobbling too much—wait, but wasn’t that backwards somehow?— and so Akashi scooped him up, and carried him toward the gusty cliffs that lined the shore.

A castle towered upon the highest slope, shining and beautiful. The closer they came to it, the more the sky darkened once again. Until the heavens were black, thick with lightning-streaked clouds.

And Akashi knew, deep in his heart, that he could not under any circumstances take Furihata inside that castle. Because he knew all too well that within its walls lurked a terrifying, cold-eyed, sharp-fanged beast…

Akashi woke with a start. A light fixture glowed above him, and an air-conditioning unit rattled. Something shifted against his knee. Something very warm.

He looked beside him. There was Furihata, fast asleep. One of his legs had slipped over Akashi’s knee, and his hand rested against Akashi’s shoulder.

Akashi gazed at his friend. Trying to process this. Trying to understand what it was about this discovery that made his insides quiver—the extreme proximity to another person, or how Furihata’s sleeping face looked curiously sweet, with his mouth partway open like that.

Something whirred nearby. Furihata’s laptop was still open. Had they both fallen asleep during the last film? No wonder he had been having odd dreams, Akashi thought, though he barely remembered them now.

He craned his neck to see the clock on Furihata’s end table. It was four in the morning.

“Furihata-kun.” He spoke very softly. Unsurprisingly, Furihata didn’t stir.

He nudged Furihata’s shoulder, and said his name again, beside his ear. Furihata let out a muffled groan.

“It seems we both fell asleep,” Akashi murmured. “We should go to bed.”

“Hnnrgh. Okay.” Furihata twisted onto his back, and rubbed his eyes. His hair was even more tousled than usual. “What time is it?”

“Four fifteen.”

“Ugh. Seriously.” It wasn’t said like a question. Furihata stared up at the ceiling for a moment. Then he hauled himself up into a sitting position. “Gotta get the mattress.”

He stumbled across the room, and Akashi followed to help. They went into the hall and took out a tri-fold mattress and shikibuton from a closet. As quietly as they could, they carried them into Furihata’s bedroom, along with a comforter and pillows. Furihata kept yawning.

“All right, so… You get my bed,” he said. Teetering, as though he was about to fall asleep where he stood. “I’ll take the floor.”

“I couldn’t possibly deprive you of your bed,” Akashi protested. “I don’t mind the floor. I’ll be more than comfortable.”

Furihata stared at him, eyes half open. Like he was trying to process this. “But—”

“Please, you take it. I insist,” Akashi said, with gentle firmness, as he led Furihata over to the bedside. Furihata blinked, apparently trying to decide what to do. He nodded, slowly.

“Okay,” he said. Something about his docile tone made a warm feeling bloom in Akashi’s chest. He wobbled, then lowered himself onto the bed. “’Night.”

“Goodnight,” Akashi said, laughing a bit. Furihata had collapsed so quickly that the blankets weren’t in the right position. He tugged them loose, then pulled them over Furihata and tucked them around his shoulders.

Glancing around the room, Akashi found the light switch. He turned off the lights, and settled onto the mattress on the floor. Up on the bed, Furihata was breathing slowly and evenly. Already asleep.

Akashi slipped under the blankets, and looked up at the ceiling.

He wasn’t surprised to find that he was wide-awake.

He sighed under his breath. He rarely slept much, even at home. At training camps, he was occasionally tired enough to sleep longer. But more often he ended up staying awake for half the night, working on plans for the next day to pass the time.

(At Rakuzan the running joke was that he must be some sort of vampire… The idea had endured long enough that at their last camp, Hayama even used a red marker to draw bites on their teammates while they were sleeping. Akashi wasn’t quite sure how to feel about the various reactions the next morning, which had ranged from hilarity to something strikingly close to terror. Not that he felt he could blame the teammates who didn’t know him as well… Some had known him better as his other self, for one thing.)

Akashi lay in the dark for a while, hoping that his drowsiness might return. At some point, he realized he was still wearing the clothes he borrowed. He briefly considered changing into his pajamas, but decided not to bother. It was only a few hours until morning, after all. And Furihata’s clothes really were comfortable, he thought absently, as he fingered the cotton hem of the t-shirt.

A faint creak startled him, followed by the thud of a closing door. A murmur of voices sounded below. Akashi sat up with a frown.

He crept toward the bedroom door, and opened it as quietly as he could. The voices floated up from the stairwell.

“—didn’t have to sit up. It’s four a.m.”

“I know that. I was wondering if you did.”

“Yeah, Mom. I knew, all right?”

Akashi blinked. He recognized the voices, those of Furihata’s mother and brother. They both sounded exasperated.

“So you knew, and you never thought to stop what you were doing and _come home_? You still have exams this week. And what are the neighbors going to think, if they see you getting in so late?”

Akashi couldn’t help but smile. Her scolding tone was starting to become familiar.

“They’ll think I’m doing stuff with my hot girlfriend.” Furihata’s brother sounded smug. “Which is, y’know, accurate.”

“ _Kintarou_.”

“Mom, I’m twenty. Relax, would you? You worry too much.”

Akashi’s eyes were wide at this point. Perhaps he shouldn’t be listening to this…

“I just want to make sure you’re being responsible! And you’re treating that girl well. You’re both so young. I don’t want you to have to deal with things you’re not ready for. Especially when you’re still in school!”

“All right, Mom, lecture received. Can I go to bed now?”

There was a long pause. Then Furihata’s mother said, in a much lighter tone, “Well, I _am_ looking forward to grandchildren. Which it sounds like I’ll be getting very soon.”

“Oh god.” Furihata’s brother was audibly horrified. “Mom! She's  _not_ —”

“You know, I was walking by that children’s store the other day, and I went in and looked at all those adorable onesies, and those sweet little shoes—”

Akashi choked back a laugh, despite his increasing embarrassment. Furihata’s mother clearly knew how to handle her eldest son.

There was a strangled sort of groan. “You’re just trying to freak me out! I get it, okay? We’re being safe. Jesus.”

“Language, young man,” his mother retorted. Then, in a softer, voice, “I’m glad to hear it. Goodnight.”

“Yeah, goodnight.”

Akashi hurried to close the door, and lay down on the mattress. Footsteps echoed up the staircase, through the hall. Another door shut. To Akashi’s surprise, he could hear the person moving around in the room next door. Furihata’s brother, he assumed.

This theory was confirmed moments later, when he began to speak.

“Hey. How’d it go?” Furihata’s brother sounded muffled, but his voice was easily audible through the thin wall. “Yeah, my mom had a fit too. Sorry. I’ll get you home earlier next time.”

A voice spoke, a higher-pitched sort of garble. A woman’s voice on a phone. Akashi didn’t understand what she was saying, however.

“Yeah. Worth it. Definitely.” Furihata’s brother dropped his voice, in a way that made Akashi feel even guiltier for hearing. “You were amazing. Hottest girl in the universe.”

A moment of silence, then what sounded like a flustered reply.

Furihata’s brother chuckled. “Of course I’m embarrassing. Not my fault you’re so good.”

The young woman laughed a little too. She said something Akashi didn’t catch. But the way she purred the syllables was enough to send a mortified shiver down the back of his neck.

“Yeah? What would you do?” Furihata’s brother spoke in a teasing voice. Akashi wondered if he should attempt to cover his ears with the pillow. “If you were here right now…?”

There was a pause. The girl’s voice grew softer, sultrier—until she ended with what sounded like a snappy retort. Furihata’s brother snorted.

“And that’s why I like you,” he said. “Mom keeps nagging me to bring you over for dinner again, by the way.” He paused for her reply. “Yeah, I know, it’s awkward. But she thinks you’re great. Really. Trust me.”

Akashi turned over, trying not to listen. It was terribly rude to be eavesdropping like this. Even though he didn’t have much of a choice.

He had never been in a situation like this before. Where everyone lived in such close quarters, that privacy was at a minimum. He had no idea how to be polite in such a context—or if politeness was even expected.

“Well, gotta go,” Furihata’s brother was saying. “My bro’s got a friend over. Don’t want to wake them.” His tone changed again, in a way that caught Akashi’s attention. “Seriously, you should _see_ this guy. He’s unbelievable. I think he might be some kind of group hallucination we’re all having.”

Akashi stared at the dark wall. Startled. The girl was saying something back.

“Seriously…? That’s the first thing you ask? I take it back. Gotta protect my kid brother’s friends from your prowling college girl ways.”

The girl said something dry. It sounded like some kind of longstanding joke, that neither of them took very seriously.

“Uh-huh.” Furihata’s brother sounded like he was grinning. “He’s not your type though. Way too pretty.” He hesitated, then his voice was hushed. “Honestly, I think my brother’s… Never mind. Tell you later.”

Akashi’s brows puckered in confusion. Furihata’s brother said goodnight, and his phone clicked. There was a creak, then another. Akashi almost couldn’t believe he was hearing the shifting of a bed, in an entirely different room.

He lay very still. Gaping up at the ceiling, that looked hazy in the darkness. The words he had overheard echoed in his ears.

_“Unbelievable.” “Some kind of group hallucination.” “Way too pretty.”_

Akashi hadn’t realized this was Furihata’s brother’s impression of him. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what any of it meant. Whether it indicated approval or not.

_“Honestly, I think my brother’s…”_

Akashi frowned, as his stomach gave a curious twist. What had Furihata’s brother been about to say? He replayed the conversation inside his mind. But he couldn’t determine the answer.

He heard lighter footsteps—Furihata’s mother returning to bed, presumably—and then the house was silent. The hum of distant Tokyo traffic murmured outside the window. Apart from that, there was no sound.

The longer Akashi lay there, the more restless he felt. Conversations kept playing through his head, from that night and the day before. He glanced up at the bed, at the blanketed heap that was Furihata.

He didn’t know what to make of the past twelve hours at all.

Akashi had been nervous, so concerned he would do something wrong. Certainly he had made a few mistakes. But they weren’t weighing on his mind like he expected. Instead he couldn’t stop thinking about Furihata, and his family, and how kind they all were… Not just to him, but to each other.

Even the conversations he just overheard proved it. Furihata’s mother and brother were arguing, but it was only out of her concern for her son. And Furihata’s brother didn’t seem angry afterward about the scolding.

They all understood one another, Akashi realized. So well they didn’t need to explain themselves, or their motives. They accepted each other, just as they were.

Unconditionally.

Perhaps Akashi should have guessed that, even before he met them. After all, Furihata was that way toward him too.

He sat up, listening to the stillness. He almost felt as though he could sense the four of them there, inside the house. Sleeping, peaceful.

He looked back at the bed, at Furihata. A lump was tangling in his throat, and he didn't know why. He felt oddly trapped. As if the house was suddenly much too small, and everything in it too close to him.

He rose and crept to the door. After a moment’s pause, he headed downstairs. He moved slowly, correcting his footing whenever he sensed the floor starting to creak. Soon he reached the ground floor.

Akashi stood in the center of the front room. The furniture was tinged gray, and framed in shadows. Light from the streetlamps outside filtered between the window shades. A tidy line of shoes sat in the genkan, huddled near to one another. A few pictures of the Furihata family hung on a nearby wall.

Akashi had never felt so out of place before.

He had never felt so keenly that he was a stranger. That he didn’t belong, and all the history crammed into this little house had no connection to him.

It truly was like something out of a children’s story. A mother and a father and two children. All living together in a cozy house. Close and warm and comfortable.

It was a different world. Akashi supposed that, to most people, a world like this must seem ordinary. Commonplace. The kind of life people wanted to escape, supposedly, because it was dull.

It didn’t feel that way to Akashi.

He stood alone in the small, dark room. Feeling lost, utterly adrift—and something else. Something he couldn’t name. But whatever it was made it somehow harder to breathe.

He clasped his forehead, trying to push down his rising emotions. He scanned the room, until his gaze landed on a particular shelf. An impulse gripped him. He knew he shouldn’t act on it, knew it was rude to do such a thing without permission… He went to take the photo album down from the shelf. Switching on a lamp, he knelt on the floor, and opened the leather-bound book.

He smiled, despite himself. He had opened to the middle of the album, to photos of Furihata in elementary school. There was Furihata on his first day, knock-kneed and beaming. He wore the usual yellow hat, and a big schoolbag on his back. There were pictures of Furihata waiting on a train platform, and a photo of him in Tokyo Station, where he stood beside a man in his thirties. Probably Furihata’s uncle, who worked for the JR railways.

Akashi poured over the photos. Reading each caption, one by one, and guessing at each face he didn’t know.

He couldn’t explain why he was so captivated. Why he couldn’t stop turning the pages, why he wanted to see every last picture inside the book. It was a distraction, and it satisfied his curiosity, about a life that was so unlike his own…

But the truth was, he simply wanted to know more about Furihata.

Akashi had been getting to know Furihata for months. He enjoyed it a great deal. They talked for hours, and he never tired of it. Of hearing Furihata’s point of view, his experiences and the things he treasured.

Still, Akashi didn’t understand why this urge to know more—this longing, to learn everything he possibly could about his friend—was growing so _strong_.

He flipped to the front of the album. There was Furihata as a baby, round-cheeked and rosy. Like all infants, he looked different than he did as a teenager. But it was still so clearly Furihata, with those wide brown eyes and the shape of his small nose and even the way his face shifted when he smiled.

There were photos of Furihata coming home from the hospital for the first time. Images of his brother staring, open-mouthed, at the little red face bundled up in a blanket. Of his mother cradling him in her arms, and his father as well, both glowing as they gazed down at him. And pictures of him lying in a crib, reaching up toward the camera, or curled up with a plush bear as big as he was.

The more Akashi studied each picture, the wider his smile grew.

There were photos of Furihata as a toddler, too. Following his brother, clutching the teddy bear from earlier. Akashi’s favorite was a picture of Furihata playing with a train set. He was even wearing an engineer cap. It was like seeing the prologue, to a story Akashi already knew.

Akashi flipped through the grade school pages again, and reached some pictures from middle school. There weren’t as many as before. Mostly they were shots of Furihata at school events. He looked more like the person Akashi knew than ever. Smaller and skinnier, but much the same.

He wasn’t quite smiling like he was in the earlier pages, though. Furihata had said before that he hadn’t enjoyed his middle school years. Akashi felt as if he could see this in his friend’s shrinking posture, the way he didn’t look at the camera. Akashi’s smile faltered, and his heart ached a bit.

He reached the last few pages of photos. There weren’t many shots of Furihata’s high school years, not yet. But the few that were included were familiar in many ways. Furihata wearing his Seirin school uniform, going out with his friends. The last photo in the book was cut from a magazine:

Furihata with the rest of Seirin’s basketball team, beside their Winter Cup trophy.

Akashi remembered that moment well. He had just suffered his first lost, and spoken to Kuroko after so long. Teammates surrounded him whom he technically knew—but he’d never interacted with them as himself. He hadn’t been in control of his body for over two years. He had so many regrets, so much on his mind.

But he did recall noticing that photo being taken. Feeling glad that Kuroko looked so happy. Glad for him, and for Kagami and the rest of his team, who seemed like such good, genuine people…

Akashi vaguely remembered hoping the timid boy whom his other self had intimidated during the match was all right too.

He trailed a finger beside Furihata’s face. He never imagined they would become such close friends. If someone had asked Akashi back then, he would have said it was impossible.

He wouldn’t have believed a boy like that would ever _want_ to know him.

A pang pulsed in Akashi’s chest, as he thought about what had happened since. So much had changed. It was like his frame of mind had shifted with the seasons, from bleak winter to a warm summer. He felt so differently, about everything.

And it was due, in no small part, to the boy featured in this photo album.

Akashi moved to shut the album, when something fell to the floor. It was an unsealed square envelope. Just by picking it up, Akashi could tell that it contained a disc. Written on the envelope in pen were the words, _‘Kouki’s Class Play, Cultural Festival 2001.’_

Akashi tipped the envelope open. The disc was a DVD, the blank kind for recording videos. He stared at it for a long time. Wrestling with his curiosity, knowing he should just put it back where he had found it…

He crept down the hall, into the room beside the kitchen. A DVD player sat beneath the television. He placed the disc in the tray. He switched on the screen, and turned the volume controls down low.

The video began. The picture wobbled, as someone fumbled with the camera. A voice spoke: Furihata’s mother, asking if the camera was working, and if there was enough battery power. It was clear from the way she talked that Furihata’s father was the one filming. He answered her questions calmly, while the camera panned around the room. They were in a small auditorium, humming with noise from the parents and students who filled the chairs.

Akashi watched, intrigued. He couldn’t help wondering what part Furihata had in this production. Likely a small one, he assumed… Furihata told him before that he suffered from severe stage fright. Still, both his parents had come to see him. Akashi knew it was common enough for parents to attend these festivals when they could. (Though he also knew what it was like, to have parents who couldn’t.)

The noise fell to a hush, as a teacher welcomed the audience. The curtains opened to reveal a simple set, with cardboard trees and a crookedly painted castle. Children in costumes were gathered onstage, and Akashi searched their faces for the one he knew. The camera swung to the far side.

An eight-year-old boy was stepping up to a microphone stand. The stand was adjusted to his height. He cradled a book in his small arms. His knees were visibly trembling.

“There he is,” Furihata’s mother murmured. It was clear from her voice that she was nervous. Akashi stared, shocked, as the boy spoke into the microphone.

“O-o-on…” The boy swallowed, and took a deep breath. The book was quaking now too. “O-o-once upon a t-time, there lived a k-king and a q-queen…”

He began to narrate the story, the familiar tale of Sleeping Beauty. At first he stammered a great deal. His teeth even chattered.

But his small, high voice grew surer as the scene went on. He had the most spoken lines, but he never stopped too long or lost his place. He paused at all the right moments too, to let the other children say their lines.

His classmates were clearly having fun onstage, improvising their lines or forgetting them entirely, to their parents’ audible amusement. Each time they did, Akashi felt strangely worried… But Furihata always steered the other children back to the story. At one point, he even whispered several lines to help a little girl, who appeared frozen from nerves. He knew the play well, it seemed.

Akashi sat in the dark, motionless, as the play went on. Listening to that tiny but determined voice.

He never would have guessed Furihata was the narrator. That was the type of role Akashi had filled in grade school. His teachers would say they needed someone to lead the other children, to be a good example, that it was an important responsibility. Akashi always took it in stride. He had been trained all his life for it.

There was Furihata, doing the very same thing. Even though Akashi knew for a fact that he was terrified to be on that stage.

… Why was he always forgetting just how _brave_ Furihata truly was?

The prince had arrived, to kiss the sleeping princess. The scene nearly veered out of control—both of the leads kept improvising—but Furihata kept it on track. He helped the girl with stage fright with more of her lines.

“I’m just so proud of him,” Furihata’s mother whispered, close beside the camera. Her voice sounded tight, a bit tearful. His father murmured in agreement.

Suddenly, Akashi’s throat ached, and his eyes stung.

Before he knew it, he was rubbing the back of his arm across his face. Hurriedly wiping his eyes, as the play ended. His chest felt sore.

He couldn’t make any sense of his emotions. He tried to sort through them, to reason them out, the way he always did. There was something about seeing Furihata facing his fears, even when he was so young, and hearing his parents praise him… How much they loved him, and how it clearly gave him courage…

It reminded Akashi of things he didn’t want to remember. Things he had lost. But at the same time…

He shook his head. He was glad, he realized again, as he drew a pained breath. He was truly grateful, to have met someone like Furihata Kouki.

He gazed blankly at the screen, as the audience applauded. The video feed stopped, and the screen switched to an empty square of blue. Akashi didn’t move to turn off the television, or retrieve the disc. He merely sat in silence.

Furihata was such a wonderful person, he thought. The two of them had grown closer and closer, even in the last twenty-four hours. Akashi had enjoyed every moment of it.

But the more he learned about Furihata, the more keenly he sensed the distance that lingered between them. Their lives were so different. Furihata didn’t know nearly as much about Akashi, as Akashi did about him.

And Akashi didn’t dare to bridge that gap. He had resolved to be as open with his friend as he could. And yet he knew he couldn’t share everything about his life. Not just for his own sake, but Furihata’s. It would have been selfish, and wrong. A burden at best. Dangerous, at worst.

Still, Akashi couldn’t seem to forget that remaining distance. He should have been content, happy with his newfound friendship. And he was, in many ways. But he still felt isolated, somehow.

As if parts of him were locked away, in a tower of his own making. Necessary, but…

Still alone.

A soft sound broke through his train of thought. He raised his head, just as someone said, “Oh. E-excuse me.”

Akashi turned. Furihata’s father stood in the entrance to the kitchen. He was clad in slacks and a light jacket. He looked startled. Akashi suddenly wished he had turned off the television. But there was no point in scrambling to do it now.

“Please, don’t mind me,” Furihata’s father said in his meek way. He turned and busied himself at the kitchen counter.

Akashi wanted to say there was no need to apologize, that this was after all Furihata’s father’s house. (Not to mention Akashi had clearly been meddling with his family’s private possessions, despite being a guest.) But he didn’t quite trust his voice.

Furihata’s father switched on a coffee maker. He edged out of the kitchen, toward what seemed to be a side door. “Well, I’ll just be going then…”

Akashi was decidedly bewildered, as his host opened the door. He barely managed to murmur something along the lines of, “All right?” Only a moment later, Furihata’s father popped back into the kitchen.

“Would—would you like to join me?” he said. Akashi gaped at him, not following any of this. “I always take a walk in the mornings.”

Now Akashi understood. He straightened and looked to the kitchen window, where light was already dawning.

“I wouldn’t want to disrupt your routine, sir,” he said quietly.

“No, no, not at all. Please, join me.” Furihata’s father spoke in a calm voice. Akashi studied him. Wondering why he seemed insistent, at least for him.

“Thank you, sir,” he said finally. He turned off the television, and hurried to get his shoes.

They put on their shoes on a mat at the side door. Akashi followed Furihata’s father out into a miniature garden, crowded with herbs and carefully trimmed vines. The morning air was pleasantly cool, and the horizon was brightening. Furihata’s father opened the gate and held it for him. Akashi made sure to thank him.

They walked along the street. The little houses in the neighborhood were mostly dark, with the occasional glowing window.

“The weather’s good, isn’t it?” Furihata’s father said, adjusting his glasses.

Akashi couldn’t help but smile. These sorts of conversations often defaulted to the weather. He talked to men this age often enough that he knew the usual openers.

“Yes, it’s very pleasant right now,” he said.

There was a lingering pause, as they walked along. Akashi noticed that Furihata’s father was about his height. Not tall, unlike his wife.

“I should probably be asking how you met my son,” Furihata’s father said suddenly. With a bashful smile, that Akashi found familiar. “But, well, Kouki already told us a lot of things about it.”

Akashi managed a laugh. “I’m sorry. I imagine it was a long story.”

Furihata’s father chuckled too. They reached the end of the street, and turned onto another just like it. Normally, Akashi would be grasping for something to say. But Furihata’s father seemed comfortable with the silence. Strangely, Akashi found it comfortable too.

“I’m glad Kouki started basketball,” Furihata’s father said, in an offhand tone. “I never thought he would play a sport competitively. But it’s been good for him.”

“It seems that way,” Akashi agreed, warmly. He couldn’t help adding, “I know it’s always been good for me.”

“How long have you played?” Furihata’s father asked.

Akashi considered the question. “About nine years.”

“That long?” Furihata’s father seemed surprised.

Akashi nodded.

“How did you get started with it?”

Akashi hesitated. This had always been a difficult question to answer, for several reasons. His gaze wandered down the road.

“My mother recommended it to me,” he said slowly. “It caught my interest, and she enrolled me in a local team. I don’t know exactly why. No one in my family played. She… she seemed to have a good feeling about it.”

He neglected to add, _“I believe she thought it was important, for me to choose at least one activity for myself.”_

He could feel the eyes of his walking companion on him. Suddenly Akashi wondered how much Furihata had told his family about his background.

“Hmm,” Furihata’s father said. “That sounds, well, like my mother.”

Akashi looked up. This was not the response he had expected at all.

“She had a good sense for people,” Furihata’s father said. “She always seemed to know what everyone around her needed most.”

Akashi managed a slight nod. That did sound like his mother. He had never fully understood her gift, but he certainly missed it.

Furihata’s father lowered his gaze.

“I was very lost without her,” he said. So softly it was hard to hear.

Akashi’s stride faltered. A question hung on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t quite bring himself to ask, however.

He knew just how painful the answer could be.

Furihata’s father glanced at him. He smiled, a faint expression.

“She passed away when I was in my twenties,” he said. “I struggled all through school—my younger brother was the talented one in the family—but she always helped me, in every way she could. I don’t know how she did it.”

His eyes were distant behind his thick lenses. Akashi was stunned, to say nothing of confused. Until now, Furihata’s father had said so little to him—and yet here he was, sharing something so intimate. To a guest he barely knew.

“I was hoping I’d be able to make her proud someday,” Furihata’s father added. “But I never got the chance. Still, if it weren’t for her, I don’t know where I’d be.”

Akashi blinked. His throat felt far too tight, like he couldn't swallow.

“I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” he managed, a bit hoarse.

Furihata’s father shook his head. “I’m sorry to have rambled on, about something so personal.”

“I don’t mind,” Akashi said. He immediately corrected himself. “That is, please don’t feel you need to apologize.”

Furihata’s father gave him a look, which he could only describe as kind.

“Kouki told us a few things about your family,” he said. “It must be very hard. Growing up in a position where there’s so much pressure on you.”

Akashi was dumbstruck. People seldom ever said things like that to him. Furihata was one of the rare few who had, in fact.

“I—I can’t complain,” he said slowly. Unsure what he should say, or how much. “I’m fortunate enough to be able to meet expectations.”

Furihata’s father gave an agreeable nod. “I’m sure you do.”

They had reached another corner. Furihata’s father led Akashi down a side street.

“I always envied my brother for being able to do that,” he said. “My father wasn’t successful, so he pushed us both when we were younger. He wanted better for us. But it wasn’t easy to deal with.”

Akashi frowned. He had never been in that position. But he felt as though he still understood, somehow.

“In some ways, I think my brother’s role was harder than mine,” Furihata’s father said in an amiable tone. “But he did well for himself. And he took care of my father for a number of years.”

“Did your father also—” Akashi couldn’t finish the question. He wasn’t sure why he kept wanting to ask such intrusive things. It wasn't like him at all.

Furihata’s father shook his head. “He remarried recently, and moved out to the country. He’s been an Edoite all his life, but… He’s like a different person now.”

He gazed at Akashi for a long moment.

“Has your father ever thought about remarrying?” he asked, very gently. “You don’t have to answer. I know it’s hard to talk about.”

Akashi swallowed. Clearly Furihata’s father did know some things about his personal life. No one had ever asked him a question like this before. He would have expected to feel uncomfortable, to decline to answer…

“I don’t believe so,” he murmured. “He’s very focused on his work.”

Furihata’s father looked thoughtful again. They passed a home with a colorful garden. An older woman sat in a weather-beaten plastic chair, drinking tea. She greeted him quietly, and he did the same.

“Everyone handles those things differently,” he said to Akashi, after they’d crossed the street again. “My wife’s mother died a few years ago. Kouki had a hard time with it. He and Kintarou were very close to her. I used to take him on these walks when he couldn’t sleep.”

Akashi frowned. He had never heard any of this before. Furihata had mentioned his grandmother in passing, mainly that he used to visit her home often—but not that she had passed away. It was unusual, for both grandmothers to have died at such a relatively young age.

Furihata once mentioned that he used to have insomnia. He hadn’t said why. Akashi had assumed it was because of the bullying in middle school.

Perhaps it was both, he thought with a pang.

“My wife handled it like she does everything,” Furihata’s father said. His voice was admiring. “She’s always been the strong one. I’m very lucky to have met her. Though I’ll never know what she saw in me.”

He chuckled, giving Akashi a conspiratorial sort of look. Akashi couldn’t help but smile. Clearly Furihata’s father loved his wife a great deal. And at least from what Akashi had seen, they seemed to strengthen each other. He was trying to think of a way to express this, when his host spoke again.

“It’s important to find those people,” Furihata’s father said. “Who can help you through the hard things.”

Akashi nodded. He felt, dimly, that he was starting to realize the truth of those words.

“Not that you need to be taking advice from an unsuccessful person like me,” Furihata’s father added quickly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Akashi softened. Furihata’s father really was like his younger son, he thought.

“You seem successful to me, sir,” he said. “You have a lovely home. And you’ve obviously raised your sons well.”

“No, no, my wife deserves all the credit.” Furihata’s father waved a hand, a humble gesture. “I’m very fortunate. I used to think I’d have nothing to keep me company but my work. But I found what I wanted eventually… It was easier, when I realized what I was looking for.”

He came to an abrupt stop. Akashi saw to his surprise that they had reached the convenience store he saw the previous day.

“I’m sure an outstanding young man like you won’t have any trouble with all of that, though.” Furihata’s father gestured to the convenience store, adding, “I’ll be right back,” and went inside.

Akashi hovered awkwardly beside the entrance. Gazing at the colorful signs on the glass walls, without fully seeing them.

Their conversation kept whirling through his head. He felt increasingly foolish. From the start, Akashi had assumed the Furihatas were a close-knit family because their harmony had never been threatened. That they led happy, uncomplicated lives. He had never guessed they were so familiar with loss.

It bore no resemblance to the type of grief Akashi knew. It didn’t seem to have put any distance between them. If anything, it might have brought their family even closer together. Akashi hadn't realized that was possible.

He couldn’t help wondering if this was because Furihata’s father had known the other kind of grief, once.

_“Everyone handles those things differently,”_ he had said.

In that moment, Akashi sensed that Furihata’s father understood. Despite the stark differences in their ages and backgrounds, he felt an undeniable kinship with the older man. He seemed like such an honest, thoughtful person.

Somehow, Akashi suspected that he would remember this conversation for a long time.

_“It was easier, when I realized what I was looking for.”_

He wondered again why Furihata’s father had told him all of this. Akashi had always struggled with discussing such private topics. He wondered why Furihata’s father had been so open, shared so many deeply personal things about himself, and his family… Why he’d felt comfortable enough, when he seemed so nervous before…

Had he realized, even before Akashi did, that they had certain things in common?

The door swung open, and Furihata’s father emerged. He was carrying a plastic bag. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I always stop here in the mornings. Would you like one?”

He held out a Kit-Kat bar, and a purin pudding cup.

“They aren’t from Toraya. But they’ll have to do, for now,” he added, and Akashi was relieved to see the twinkle in his eye.

Akashi chose the chocolate bar. Furihata’s father took out a spoon, and opened the pudding.

“Don’t tell my wife,” he said, in that conspiratorial voice from before. Akashi couldn’t hold back a laugh.

He would never have imagined it would be especially pleasant, to eat a candy bar while walking around a Tokyo neighborhood at dawn. But it was, just the same.

They reached the Furihatas’ house, and went through the side gate. An orange cat was perched on the garden wall. It mewed loudly, and leapt down into the garden. To Akashi’s astonishment, the cat came right up to Furihata’s father, and wound around his legs, rubbing up against him.

Furihata’s father took a wrapped rice ball from the bag. He peeled away the plastic, and broke the ball open. There was salmon filling inside. Furihata’s father scooped out some of the fish, and held it out. The stray cat ate eagerly. Between bites, it continued to rub against him, and against Akashi too.

Akashi shook his head, amazed. This was why Furihata’s father went to the conbini every morning. Simply to feed a stray cat.

When the cat was done eating, it rolled over like a puppy, basking in the sunlight. Furihata’s father stroked its fur. Akashi couldn't stop smiling.

“Now I see why your household is so warm and open,” he said. “You really do welcome everyone.”

Furihata’s father looked startled by the compliment.

“Thank you for inviting me, sir,” Akashi added. “And sharing your walk.”

Furihata’s father blinked up at him. Eyes open wide, glasses glinting.

“Kouki was right,” he said, in a voice that made Akashi feel rather like the cat lying in the sun. “You are a very nice young man.”

They beamed at each other. Akashi’s heart lifted. Knowing that Furihata had said such a thing about him, and that his father agreed.

In that bright moment, Akashi had never been gladder that he decided to come to Furihata’s house. To meet these kind, loving people, who readily shared everything they had. Their home, their belongings, their memories—even their sorrow. It made Akashi realize, more than ever, what a gift it was to be able to trust others with these things. How precious and important that could be.

And curiously enough, he no longer felt quite so out of place.


	5. A Crack in the Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to my awesome readers! I am so sorry to have kept you waiting. I was planning to take a break after this chapter (you'll see why!) but this one gave me some trouble. So I took time off to get it as right as I could, and tweak the last chapter. (If you've read Chapter Four, no need to read it again! I just added a few lines and adjusted some dialogue that was bothering me.)
> 
> I don't have many notes this time, so I'll add them at the end. Also, I'm sincerely sorry for falling behind in my replies to your amazing comments from last month. I'm going to try to catch up, so if you get a really late reply from me, that's why! And I know I say this all the time, but I honestly can't express how much I love hearing your thoughts, and how amazed I am by your support. So this time around, I'm going to do my best to respond to comments as I read them. Thank you so much again, and I hope you enjoy the chapter. <3

_The prince thanked the family for their hospitality, and vowed to repay them in any way he could. Though the family thanked him in turn, they assured him they didn’t want for anything. Still sensing the magic at work around their home, the prince was inclined to believe them._

_The next morning, the prince bid the family farewell. As he led his horse out to the road, the second son followed behind. He still held his candle, taking care to shield it from the wind. The second son asked if he might accompany the prince to the castle. He had seen it from afar all his life, he said, and had always wanted to know what was inside._

_The prince refused. The second son asked why, but the prince could say only that the castle was unfit for guests. “Please,” the second son said again. “I wish to see it. And I wish to remain with you, Your Highness, for you are so kind.”_

_The prince was startled, and deeply touched. An unfamiliar urge came over him then—a selfish yearning, to accept the boy’s request. He looked to the candle, still burning brightly, even in the breeze. And he thought of the darkness that awaited him inside his castle._

_A darkness so powerful that no light could drive it away._

* * *

Furihata really wanted to go to the basketball tournament.

He couldn’t remember which tournament it was, or why he couldn’t go. Coach Riko was yelling about it earlier, he thought. But she wasn’t around right now.

Anyway, that was why he was stuck doing all these chores. Cleaning the gym, putting away the equipment, organizing the clubroom. Everybody else had left, and if Furihata didn’t hurry up he was going to miss the whole thing, and he was kind of starting to panic.

Then for some reason Kagami was there. With a wand and a billowy red cape. Hollering something about how he didn’t know why _he_ was the fairy godfather, because Kuroko was the magician, and was this supposed to be a crack about him being rich or something?

Furihata apologized. Because Kagami had a point, and that was pretty insensitive. He tried to explain that Kuroko was always showing up in his dreams, and he felt bad, making him play the bit parts over and over. (He went with Izuki-senpai once, but the whole thing got completely derailed by puns.)

And Kagami started yelling about how that wasn’t his problem, and then Kuroko showed up anyway because Kagami was taking too long. Kuroko’s cape was blue, of course. After arguing a lot, they waved their wands, and passed some kind of spell between them.

There was a huge flash of light, and Furihata was wearing the coolest basketball shoes he’d ever seen. They were shiny and silvery, like glass. He made sure to thank his teammates. But he pointed out that he couldn’t actually play basketball in these shoes. They were way too nice.

Kuroko and Kagami didn’t seem to be listening, though. They told him to go to the tournament, and “dance and be gay.” But that didn’t really make sense, because nobody danced when they played basketball. Also, Furihata told them—nicely, he hoped, he wasn’t trying to be a jerk about it—he was into girls.

(He wasn’t sure how somebody was supposed to “be gay” at a basketball tournament anyhow… Other than just, well, liking other guys and stuff?)

Furihata headed off to the tournament, eventually. When he got there, it wasn’t a tournament at all. It was a huge, shining castle. He still went inside, figuring it was probably a ball, and he might as well see what it was like. But it wasn’t a ball, really. There were a lot of people at first, but nobody was dancing and everybody was ignoring him.

Then suddenly Akashi was there, and it was like all the other people disappeared. Akashi looked amazing, of course, dressed all in white. It kind of looked like he was wearing a tuxedo suit. Except for some reason he had his Rakuzan basketball jacket on his shoulders?

Anyway, Akashi smiled brightly, and complimented Furihata on his shoes. He showed Furihata around the castle, and they were laughing and walking arm in arm and even dancing through the halls in a completely goofy way.

Furihata had never had so much fun. The castle was amazing and he told Akashi so. They were sitting on a huge couch, swinging their legs together. Furihata was kind of thinking of putting an arm around Akashi, or resting his head on his shoulder, because that sounded weirdly nice.

He inched closer, but then he heard a noise, far away. Kind of like a moan.

He looked back, and Akashi’s face had completely changed. He was glaring, with eyes that didn’t match—so fiercely that Furihata felt a rush of panic. Suddenly the castle transformed too, and everything looked dark and tattered and ruined. Like the whole building was rotting, slowly crumbling to pieces.

“Leave,” Akashi muttered. “At once.”

“B-but—”

“You’re not wanted here,” Akashi thundered. “Get out!”

And Furihata wanted to, he really did. But he couldn’t move at all. He heard rain above his head, and the echoing crashes of a storm. Then the moan again. It sounded like a wounded animal, crying.

“It’s too late,” Akashi whispered, and turned away. Now the sound was like the strangled roar of a beast. It rampaged down the flashing hall, coming closer and closer…

Furihata jerked awake. He turned over, trying to twist free of the blankets. Morning light glowed behind his window shade, and a clatter echoed downstairs. Probably his mother, down in the kitchen.

He was just dreaming, wasn’t he? A weird dream, about Akashi and a storm and a castle. But he couldn’t remember most of it. He didn’t remember getting into bed, either.

His gaze fell on the mattress on the floor. It was empty. The clock read past six.

_Crap!_

Furihata scrambled out of bed, so fast he slipped. He avoided a face-plant, just barely. Stumbling over the futon, he lunged toward his closet. He opened a drawer, then thought better of it. He was dressed enough for breakfast, he figured.

He jammed his feet into his slippers, then clambered down the stairs. All the while kicking himself for not setting an alarm or anything.

He had planned to get up early. Before Akashi, if possible. Furihata knew Akashi didn’t sleep that much. And it could be awkward, waking up in a friend’s house first. Plus he had promised his mom…

He skidded into the kitchen, where his mom was stirring batter in a mixing bowl. “Sorry I’m late!”

“You’re fine, sweetheart. I just started,” his mother said cheerfully. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” Furihata’s gaze darted around. The television was on, but nobody was on the couch. “Uh, so where’s Akashi-kun?”

His mother whisked some sugar into the bowl. “I think he went out with your father. His shoes were gone when I came down.”

“Oh.” Furihata’s stomach dipped. He glanced out the kitchen window, as he went to wash his hands.

So Akashi was with his dad on his morning walk, probably… Furihata couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not? He hoped Akashi wasn’t feeling uncomfortable. His dad had been pretty shy the day before.

“Do you want to finish?” His mother handed him the bowl of crepe batter. “I’ll go get started on the eggs.”

Furihata nodded absently. He mixed in the rest of the sugar, then added the melted butter. His thoughts kept wandering, as he switched on a burner and took out a pan.

He really hoped Akashi was okay. To be honest, though, the visit was going way better than he expected. Some embarrassing stuff had happened, sure. Mostly the nonstop teasing from his brother. Not to mention when his mom got upset over Akashi’s gift. That could have been a huge, awful misunderstanding. But it turned out just fine.

A smile inched across Furihata’s face. He poured some of the batter into the heated pan, and started swirling it around.

He couldn’t stop thinking about that part, for some reason. Akashi had convinced Furihata’s mom to accept his amazing gift, in a way that didn’t make her feel guilty. Which was practically a miracle. Then Akashi said all those nice things, about how he owed Furihata…

_“I could never repay him, for the gifts he’s given me.”_

_“I meant what I said. I’m indebted to you.”_

_“I hope I can repay you by being as good a friend as you are to me.”_

Furihata’s face was starting to feel kind of flushed. Though that was probably because he turned the heat up too high on the stove.

… And it was also why the crepe was smoking.

“Shoot!” Furihata rushed to turn down the heat. He nearly knocked over the bowl, but caught it just in time. The spoon clattered to the floor, and his mother jumped.

“Are you all right?” She looked over, her lips pinched in worry. “What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing! I got it.” Furihata put the spoon in the sink, and took a deep breath. _Jeez, get it together._ “I just, uh, messed up the first one.”

Which was kind of an understatement, he realized, as he peeled the charred crepe out of the pan. Oh well. At least he knew the pan was hot enough.

“Okay. Just be careful,” his mother said, giving him a sideways look.

Furihata nodded, sheepish. He forced himself to focus, as he swirled more batter inside the pan. The second one turned out a lot better. The third one tore, so he nibbled on it while the next one was cooking.

He was stacking the sixth or seventh one on the plate—he had lost count—when the garden door squeaked open. His dad walked into the kitchen, with Akashi following him. Furihata stopped to look him over, to make sure Akashi was okay.

He ended up staring. Because Akashi was, well…

He was _happy_.

Furihata still didn’t know how to explain it. How he could sense some kind of aura around Akashi, like an invisible halo of warmth. He had noticed it when they first met, and the feeling only grew stronger over time.

Sometimes, he could even figure out Akashi’s emotions from the way it felt. Like right now, when the warmth flowed around him in a peaceful sort of cloud. Akashi even looked relaxed, with an easy smile on his face.

Actually, Furihata had only seen him that relaxed one other time. The night before, when they were both on his bed watching movies.

Furihata didn’t know why it made his chest ache, though. In a good way.

“Good morning, you two,” Furihata’s mother was saying. “How was your walk?”

Akashi and Furihata’s dad exchanged a look.

“The weather was nice,” Furihata’s dad said quietly.

“Yes,” Akashi agreed. “It was very nice.”

Their mouths twitched, like this was an inside joke or something. Furihata blinked. Had they actually talked, for real? He wondered what about. His dad went over to the table, where the newspaper was waiting for him, and his mom went to pour him some coffee.

Akashi glanced over at Furihata, and just like that, his face lit up. Furihata’s heart skipped as he smiled back. Akashi always looked so happy to see him. Like it made his day. Furihata had to admit, it made him feel pretty darn special.

“Good morning,” Akashi said, coming up to the counter.

“Morning.” Furihata was trying to figure out how to ask if something happened on the walk, when Akashi eyed the pan.

“What are you making?” he said, in his friendly way.

“Oh, uh, right.” Furihata set the pan down on the stove, so it could heat up again. “I don’t know if you like crepes or not? We usually have them when guests are over.”

“I do.” Akashi sounded intrigued. “Though I didn’t realize anyone in Tokyo ate them for breakfast.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s kind of like having dessert first thing?” Furihata chuckled. “But we’re having eggs and bacon too. And toast, if you want it.”

While he was talking, he poured some more batter into the pan. He spread it around in a circle, until it was so thin it was lacy around the edges. He let the crepe cook for a bit, then loosened and flipped it.

“You’re very skilled at that,” Akashi said. “Aren’t crepes rather difficult to make?”

“Oh, uh… Thanks!” Furihata’s stomach gave a weird jump, like it was doing a flip of its own. “But they’re not that bad if you practice. And I always tear some.”

_Or burn one to a crisp, but let’s ignore that._

“Even so, I’m impressed.” Akashi studied the crepes on the plate, as Furihata added the newly made one to the stack. “Those look delicious.”

Furihata ducked his head. His ears felt kind of warm, suddenly. He started on the next crepe. “So, uh, what about you? Do you cook?”

“I can usually manage well enough, if I have instructions,” Akashi replied. “But I don’t often get the opportunity.”

That made sense, Furihata thought. He wondered who did the cooking at Akashi’s house. One of his servants, probably. Furihata still didn’t know much about what Akashi’s home life was like.

He got the next crepe safely onto the plate—and then he fumbled the spatula. Akashi lunged and caught it, before it could hit the floor.

“Wow, thanks!” Furihata moved to take it, but Akashi was still straightening up, and they bumped heads. They both winced in unison. “Ow. Sorry about that! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Akashi said, laughing.

“Are you sure? Do you need ice or something?”

“Quite sure. It’s nothing to worry about.” Akashi rubbed his forehead, but there didn’t seem to be a bruise. Much to Furihata’s relief.

Furihata didn’t know why he was being so clumsy. It wasn’t like he had any reason to be flustered…

“Hey, first casualty of the morning,” a familiar voice quipped. “Or did I miss one?”

Furihata bristled. He hadn’t noticed his brother coming down the stairs. Which was weird, since he was always so loud.

“ _No_ ,” he shot back. “And it wasn’t a casualty!”

“Oh yeah? Because I’m pretty sure Akashi here just saved your hide. At his own peril. Very brave.” His brother was grinning. In that smug way that made Furihata want to throw stuff at him. “You sure I didn’t miss anything? Broken stuff, food gone wrong? I know I heard a crash earlier.”

“Shut up,” Furihata mumbled, and went back to making crepes. He wanted to retort, but he knew his brother was just looking for an excuse to reminisce about kitchen accidents. Not like he could talk, Furihata fumed.

Furihata still couldn’t figure out why his brother was teasing him so much. Sure, Akashi was amazing, and Furihata didn’t want to look too dumb in front of him… It was almost like his brother was trying to rub that in or something.

But it was weird. Furihata already knew Akashi wouldn’t think less of him, even if he did something really stupid. And he felt like his brother could tell. Because yeah, his brother was a huge pain, but he would never try to sabotage one of Furihata’s friendships…

So what was his deal, anyway?

“Kintarou, be nice,” his mother said, as she took some jars out of the refrigerator. “I’m surprised you’re awake.”

She said this in a way that made it clear his brother had come home late. Normally Furihata would use the chance to get in a few jabs—“Oh, hey, look who’s in trouble _again_ ”—but he decided against it. His brother might say too much about where he had been the night before. Which could be awkward, with Akashi there.

Furihata still found it so weird that his brother had a love life. A serious, adult one. He’d had plenty of girlfriends before—but his relationship with Rei was something else. He was always on the phone with her. Talking late at night, flirting about stuff that Furihata wished he hadn’t overheard. For one thing, it was embarrassing when it was your _brother_.

And also, well… Furihata was sort of jealous. He wasn’t ready for that kind of relationship yet. (He figured he should do more of the holding-hands-and-kissing stuff first.) But it did sound nice.

He missed having someone to kiss, that was for sure.

“Yeah, well, the food smelled good.” His brother was texting on his phone again.

Furihata rolled his eyes. _Seriously? Who does he know who’s even awake?_

His brother ambled over to a cabinet and took out a drinking glass, while he was still texting. The glass fell and clattered onto the counter. (There was definitely a reason their family used plastic.)

Furihata’s mother sighed.

“All right, you, out.” She shoved his brother toward the dining table. “The last thing I need is you not paying attention. The whole house is going to burn down at this rate.”

“Wait, burn down? Did Kouki burn something?” His brother looked up, gleeful.

“ _Hush_ ,” his mother said, pushing him down into a chair.

Furihata gulped down a groan. He looked over at Akashi, ready to apologize—for his brother’s teasing, and for being so clumsy. He paused, startled.

Akashi had that look on his face again.

Furihata wasn’t exactly sure how to describe it. Akashi was watching Furihata’s family, smiling, like he was having a good time. But his expression looked kind of distant, too. Like he was thinking about something.

He kept smiling like that, ever since he came over. Furihata wasn’t sure what it meant.

Furihata opened his mouth, to ask if Akashi was okay, when his mother turned and waved him over. “Akashi-kun, why don’t you sit too? I’ll bring you something to drink. Do you like coffee?”

She started listing off all the drinks they had, while Akashi joined her at the table. Furihata let himself relax. He was worried about his mom’s fussing before, but it didn’t seem to bother Akashi. Maybe even the opposite?

It wasn’t just his mom, either. Akashi kept muffling a laugh, whenever Furihata’s brother cracked a joke. Now he was looking over at Furihata’s dad and smiling.

It seemed like Akashi liked Furihata’s family. A lot.

Furihata hadn’t really expected that. Akashi was so amazing, after all, and Furihata’s family was so _normal_. A dad on the quiet side, a mom who worried a lot, a brother who was a pain in the butt sometimes… Pretty typical. Boring, even. Just like him.

But then again, Akashi liked him too.

For some reason, this thought made Furihata’s chest feel light. He kept peeking over at Akashi, while he finished making crepes.

One thing was for sure. His family liked Akashi. Furihata hoped they would—but he never guessed it would be _this_ much. At first they were just trying their best to make Akashi feel at home, because Furihata had asked them to. But now? It was so much more than that.

Seriously, it was so _obvious_. His mom was doting on Akashi every chance she got. Meanwhile his brother kept pulling Akashi into the conversation, trying to make him laugh. Even Furihata’s dad was talking more, as he showed Akashi a newspaper article he was reading.

The longer Furihata watched all of them together, the lighter he felt.

And the weirdest part was, Akashi didn’t seem to realize this at all. He didn’t even know he made Furihata’s family so comfortable—that he was such a kind, easy-to-like person. But seeing it through their eyes had reminded Furihata all over again.

He was so lucky, to have a friend like Akashi.

Furihata finished off the rest of the batter, then brought the crepes over to the table. Akashi turned, and their eyes met. Furihata grinned down at him. Akashi blinked, but then he did the same.

Akashi seriously had the nicest smile, Furihata thought. Especially when it reached his eyes, and those crimson irises brightened until they _glowed_. It was like an echo, of the warmth that always surrounded him.

And for some reason, it made Furihata’s heart beat a little faster.

Furihata plated a few crepes, adding some of his mom’s homemade jam before he rolled them up. He then passed Akashi the plate, and almost dropped it (seriously, _again_?) but Akashi kept it balanced beneath his hands.

Furihata gave him a grateful smile. Akashi sure rescued him a lot. It wasn’t even embarrassing, really, just… nice.

Breakfast was quiet at first, while everyone ate. Then they were all talking again. Mostly about the weather on TV. There was a typhoon moving through the Pacific. It didn’t look like it would hit Tokyo, but there would be a lot of rain.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Furihata’s mother sighed. “The weather was just starting to clear up.”

Furihata knew she was thinking of having to air out the house again. (She’d been cleaning all week, to fix up the house for Akashi… Not that Akashi knew that.)

“What’s the summer been like in Kyoto, Akashi-kun?” Furihata’s father was asking. “Did you have a lot of rain this year?”

Akashi nodded, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He explained that it was especially hot in Kyoto, since it was in a valley.

He seemed kind of distracted, though. Eventually Furihata realized why. Akashi was sneaking bites of his breakfast, in between answering his parents’ questions. He was on his second helping of crepes, too. Furihata couldn’t help but beam. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt kind of giddy, that Akashi was enjoying something he had made.

Eventually they were all done eating. Akashi practically begged Furihata’s mom to allow him to help clear the table. Surprisingly, she agreed. Furihata and Akashi gathered up the dishes, and brought them over to the sink.

“Are you staying with us for lunch, Akashi-kun?” Furihata’s mother asked, as she opened the dishwasher.

“I can’t, I’m afraid.” Akashi sounded genuinely regretful. “I have an engagement this afternoon with my father, and a lesson with one of my tutors.”

Furihata’s brother piped up, “Lesson? Aren’t you on vacation?” He wrinkled his nose. “That bites.”

Furihata’s mom shot him a look over the counter. Akashi’s mouth twitched, like he wanted to laugh again.

“Well, we’re very sorry to see you go,” she said. “I was planning to serve the leftover curry rice for lunch. Since you have to leave, would you like to take some home instead?”

Akashi straightened a little. Furihata could tell right away that he was interested. (He didn’t blame him. His mom’s curry rice was even better as leftovers.)

“I wouldn’t want to be any trouble,” Akashi said, hesitantly.

“No, no, we’re happy to,” Furihata’s mother insisted. “Kouki, why don’t you go get him one of our containers? From the spare room.”

“Sure.” Furihata knew right away what she meant. _“One of our nicer containers that we don’t use.”_ They had bento boxes in the kitchen, but those were pretty beat up.

Furihata hurried down the hallway, and pulled the sliding door open. The spare room was the only tatami room in the house, so he paused to take off his slippers. The place was supposed to be a dining room. His family didn’t use it much, though, especially in the summertime.

He crossed the straw mats to one of the storage cabinets. After digging around a while, he found a lacquered black box with a matching bag. He turned—only to start when he saw Akashi at the door.

“I was wondering if you had a tatami room,” he said, sounding curious.

“Oh, uh, yeah! We do,” Furihata said. “Just don’t tell my mom you looked in here. She thinks it’s too messy for guests.”

Akashi cocked his head, brow slightly furrowed. “It seems neat enough to me.”

“Yeah, I know. She has high standards.” Furihata laughed. Resisting the urge to add, _“Not to mention she already thinks the world of you, so…”_

“It would appear she does.” Akashi looked around. His expression changed, like a shadow passing over his face. Furihata followed his gaze, confused.

The butsudan sat in the corner. The family shrine was open, with the dark wood doors of the cabinet pulled back on either side. Beneath the icons sat a cluster of fresh flowers, and two photographs. Furihata knew the photos well.

“Are those your grandmothers?” Akashi said, in a soft voice.

“Um, yeah,” Furihata said, startled. He glanced back at the shrine. His mom had put some of the youkan candy from the day before into one of the offering dishes.

He smiled, without thinking.

“That one is my mom’s mom.” He nodded to the frame on the left, then the one on the right. “And she was my dad’s. She passed away before my parents met. My dad talks about her a lot, though.”

Akashi nodded. He appeared to be studying the photos carefully. Furihata wasn’t sure why he seemed so interested.

He glanced back at the picture of his dad’s mom. Furihata only knew her like this, as a faintly tinted photograph on the family shrine. He always thought she seemed nice, though, with her huge round eyes twinkling behind her glasses.

A stick of incense lay on the shelf, in front of the incense bowl. That was for his dad. He prayed there every day, usually before going off to work. A cushion sat on the floor for him to use.

“What about your maternal grandmother?” Akashi’s voice was hushed. “I seem to recall you mentioning her before.”

“Yeah. She’s the one I used to visit,” Furihata said cheerfully. “We went over to her house all the time. She’s kind of the reason we like Japanese sweets so much… She was always taking us to buy candy with my mom.”

His gaze lingered on the youkan in the dish. And at the photo of his grandmother. She was wearing a kimono, and her wispy brown hair formed a nest-like cloud around her head.

“She was really old-fashioned.” A weird lump was rising in Furihata’s throat, for some reason. He swallowed it down. “And, um, really nice. You would’ve liked her.”

He could feel Akashi’s eyes on him. But he couldn’t quite meet his gaze.

“I’m sure I would have,” Akashi said. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to be intrusive.”

“No, it’s fine,” Furihata hurried to assure him. “She just—she died a few years ago, and, um…”

He trailed off. He hadn’t meant to start that sentence. Now he didn’t know how to finish it. Clutching the bento box to his chest, he stared down at the floor.

“You miss her,” Akashi offered, tentatively.

Furihata’s heart gave a twinge. He felt sort of sick.

“That’s a lot of it,” he agreed. Because it was. He really missed going over to his grandma’s house, and sitting down at her low table, and telling her about his day at school. She was always patting him on the head, and saying how proud she was of him. Even back when Furihata hadn’t felt proud of himself, at all, because he didn’t have the greatest grades, or any particular talents, or friends who liked him for who he was.

Somehow, though, he had always believed her. He could still hear her warm, papery voice in his head sometimes.

_“What really matters is how you treat other people. You’re such a good boy, Kouki.”_

_“Don’t compare yourself to your brother, or anyone else. Go at your own pace. You’ll do just fine.”_

“I, uh, I kind of messed up,” he said, a bit shaky. “She got sick, and had to go to the hospital. Nobody thought it was a big deal. She was supposed to go home in a few days. My mom went to keep her company, and she asked if I wanted to come. But—but I was too scared of the hospital to go.”

He faltered. That was always the hardest part for him to say.

“She passed away,” he added, barely louder than a whisper. “It was really sudden. And I felt so bad, that I wasn’t there to see her or say goodbye or anything.”

His lips trembled, and he fell silent. He wasn’t sure why he had just said all of that. Akashi hadn’t asked.

He knew Akashi would understand, though. If any of his friends could, he would.

A hand rested gently on Furihata’s shoulder.

“I’m sure she didn’t fault you.” Akashi started to rub Furihata’s arm.

Furihata forced out an unsteady breath.

“Yeah. I just really wish I hadn’t chickened out.” He shook his head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all heavy on you, out of nowhere.”

He forced a smile. The whole thing had freaked him out a lot at the time. It was so sudden, and final. For months, he could barely sleep—and he wasn’t sure if he was just sad, or scared about people dying, or both.

His family helped him through it. Especially his dad. Furihata’s smile relaxed a little, at the memory of all those late-night walks to the convenience store.

He felt way better about it now. Even if it still hurt, to only be able to see his grandmother in pictures.

Akashi looked concerned. “There’s no need to apologize. I’m terribly sorry, that I caused you to relive something painful.”

“No, it’s okay!” Furihata insisted, settling into Akashi’s touch. “Really. I don’t mind at all. If it’s you.”

He reached up, and squeezed Akashi’s hand. The caring look on Akashi’s face made Furihata feel so calm. Like a warm blanket wrapping all around him.

Then his own words echoed in his ears. He blinked.

_Wait, what did I mean by **that**?_

He had said it without thinking, really. Because Akashi was such a good friend. He was so mature and understanding, and Furihata trusted him completely. But it was more than that, somehow.

It was like Furihata wanted to tell Akashi _everything_. Even the really embarrassing stuff, like his fears and secrets. Things Akashi had never asked. Because… because…

Well, Furihata didn’t know why. Most of the time, he struggled to talk much about himself. There were a lot of things he didn’t want to admit, even to the people he trusted. And he admired Akashi so much. Shouldn’t he be at least a little scared that Akashi would think less of him? Even if that wasn’t actually true?

And the urge went even deeper than that… But Furihata didn’t want to admit it. He was pretty sure it would make Akashi uncomfortable.

The truth was, Furihata wanted to know more about Akashi. They talked all the time, about school and basketball and their teammates. But Akashi never said much about his home life, or his family. Furihata knew plenty of stuff about his newest friend—but at the same time, there was so much he didn’t know.

He really didn’t want to push. He knew Akashi had problems opening up to people. Furihata reminded himself that, over and over, whenever he was tempted to ask him a bunch of personal questions.

But lately, for some reason, Furihata kept noticing all these walls around Akashi. Secretly, he was starting to wish he could break them down.

He shook his head, pushing the thought to the back of his mind. He fidgeted with the bento box. “Well, uh… I guess I should take this out to my mom?”

“Yes, of course,” Akashi said. Like he had just snapped out of some thoughts of his own. “Please go ahead.”

Furihata hesitated. He wanted to ask what Akashi was thinking, but he wasn’t sure if he should or not. So he just took the bento box out to the kitchen. His mom gave him a confused look, like she wanted to ask what took so long, but she didn’t actually say anything. She started to pack the containers, one with rice and the other with curry.

A moment later, Akashi appeared. He came up to the kitchen counter.

“There’s no need to give me so much, Furihata-san,” he protested. “I wouldn’t want to deprive your family of their meal.”

“Oh don’t be silly, I made more than enough.” She stacked the containers and tied them up in the bag. “Here you are.”

“Thank you,” Akashi said, holding the bag with both hands. “But these are such lovely boxes. Are you certain you don’t mind being without them?”

“Of course,” his mother gushed. “It’s no trouble at all. You’ll just have to come visit us again, when you're ready to bring them back.”

For a moment, Akashi gaped at her, then at the bag. Like he didn’t know what to make of this. Then he smiled, so eagerly that the sight of it warmed Furihata from head to toe.

“I would enjoy that very much,” he said, in his earnest voice.

“Yup, you have to come back,” Furihata’s brother said, appearing out of nowhere. “I haven’t run out of embarrassing Kouki stories yet. Not even close.”

He leaned over the counter with a wink. Akashi chuckled. Furihata rolled his eyes—but he couldn’t be too mad. He wanted Akashi to visit again. Even if it meant more annoying stories, and his family being awkward.

He wanted it, because Akashi seemed to want it too. Furihata was hoping that from the start, when he had invited Akashi over. That his house would be a place where Akashi felt welcome. Like he could just relax, and be himself.

The same way Akashi made him feel.

* * *

The morning air was already hot and humid, drenched with July sunlight. Furihata walked beside Akashi, as they headed toward the end of the street. Akashi’s driver was meeting him there. Akashi was carrying the bento boxes, and his bag was slung over one shoulder.

They were both quiet, as they neared the street corner. Furihata didn’t know what was on Akashi’s mind. He was thinking about the visit, and how great it had been. From playing shougi to going out for kakigori, to having dinner and watching all those movies…

He kept remembering that last part. How fun it was to lounge next to Akashi, with their heads so close together, and trade grins over goofy songs. Furihata couldn’t get that one part out of his mind, when Akashi burst into laughter. He had heard him laugh that way before, once or twice. But never for that long.

Which was too bad, really. Because Akashi laughing—seriously uncontrolled, hysterical, out-of-breath _laughing_ —was pretty much the best sound he had ever heard.

Furihata felt kind of giddy again. He glanced at Akashi. They were walking close together, along the narrow sidewalk. For some reason, Furihata wanted to put his arm around his friend. He didn’t do it, though.

He wasn’t sure how Akashi would feel about that. Plus it seemed like a weird thing to ask out of nowhere. _“Hey so I want to put my arm around you because you’re such a great person and I’m weirdly happy about it, is that cool?”_

Furihata could feel Akashi’s aura again. It was strange, to remember how he used to want to run away when he sensed it. Lately, he felt almost drawn to that powerful warmth. Like it had some kind of pull, that kept tugging him closer…

He still hadn’t mentioned it to Akashi, though. He kept thinking that someday he would stop feeling it, that it would all turn out to be in his head.

They reached the street corner, but Akashi’s driver wasn’t there yet. They hovered beside the curb, while Akashi checked his phone.

“We’re a bit early,” he allowed. He smiled over at Furihata. His brilliant hair was shining in the sun, Furihata noticed. Almost literally.

Suddenly Furihata realized that his chest kind of hurt. He wished Akashi could stay. They had never been together for so long before—but he wasn’t tired of it at all. The opposite, somehow.

Which seemed weird and clingy, so he tried not to think about it too hard. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, and peered across the street.

“We could wait over there, if you want,” he said, nodding to the park. “There’s a lot more shade.”

“That would be nice,” Akashi agreed, flapping his collar. (Not that he looked that sweaty or anything… Of course he didn’t. Meanwhile Furihata was basically melting, like an ice cream cone dropped on the sidewalk.)

They crossed the street. All the benches were still in the sun, so Furihata led the way over to the swing set. Two of the swings were nestled in the shade of a nearby tree. Furihata plopped down on one of them, with a grin.

“This would be funnier if I was taller,” he said, and Akashi snorted.

“It’s still humorous.” He set his bags down in the shade, then settled on the neighboring swing. “These aren’t exactly designed to accommodate the legs of a sixteen-year-old.”

“Yeah, not so much.” Furihata stretched out his calves, so that he was toeing the leafy shadow’s edge. “Jeez, I can’t remember the last time I did this. I used to come here every day.”

He chuckled at all the memories. He had always liked the swings the best, out of everything on the playground. His brother liked them too—so he could prove how brave he was, by jumping off them in mid-swing.

Furihata never did that. He just swung back and forth, lost in the feeling. He would usually imagine he was flying, to somewhere far, far away. Into the pages of one of the stories he was reading.

Furihata inched backward, on a whim, and lifted his feet. Just enough so that he swung back and forth.

Akashi had gone quiet again. Furihata gripped the chains, as he slowed to a stop. Their hands were hovering at the exact same height. Elbows close together. Only a few inches of space stretched between them.

The air between them felt heavy, suddenly. With more than just the summer heat.

Furihata had felt this way before. In moments like this, when they both stopped talking. It was like something was missing, or—or like it was there, after all, but neither of them knew what it was?

He didn’t know how to explain it. Maybe he was just being weird again.

He eyed Akashi’s hand. He had the strangest urge to reach out and take it. Like he was supposed to—except he had no clue why. He had been listening to his instincts more often, ever since he befriended Akashi. But this was just bizarre.

Still, Furihata was tempted. To grab onto Akashi’s hand, and ask what he was thinking. To ask if his friend felt the same way he did, like he didn’t want to leave yet…

“Thank you,” Akashi said, and Furihata’s train of thought derailed. Their eyes met, and Akashi added, “For inviting me to your home. I had a wonderful time.”

Furihata couldn’t help beaming.

“I’m glad,” he said. “My family didn’t make you feel too awkward or anything?”

Akashi shook his head. “They’re remarkably kind people. Though in retrospect, I should have anticipated that.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because of how kind you are,” Akashi said, with a fond smile.

Furihata’s heart gave a random flutter. It was amazing, how Akashi could just say things like that and not get embarrassed at all. “Oh, uh. Thanks.”

“It’s simply the truth,” Akashi said, in his calm, sincere way. “In any case, I’ll need to give considerable thought as to how I should return the favor.”

Now it was Furihata’s turn to shake his head. Akashi was always thinking about how to repay people—even when he didn’t owe them. He didn’t seem to understand that his company was a gift, all by itself.

“You don’t have to do that! Really.” Furihata hesitated, trying to think how to explain. “I had as much fun as you did. I just like hanging out with you.”

He shrugged, smiling.

“I guess you could always invite me over to your place sometime,” he added.

Akashi gave a slight start. Furihata froze.

Why in the heck did he say that?

Furihata was positive Akashi wasn’t in the habit of inviting people to his house. He had been so surprised by Furihata’s invitation, like he didn’t know sleepovers were even a thing. And Furihata never meant to bring it up. It was more than enough that Akashi had visited him.

Seriously, what was his problem?

“Uh. I mean… Only if you wanted to!” he said in a hurry. “Not—not right away or anything like that. And I don’t expect you to. At all. Just… If you wanted? Someday.”

He trailed off, and bit the inside of his cheek. Mentally kicking himself. He should have been more than happy, with how close they already were. Sure, he would have liked to see Akashi’s house, and to spend more time with him. But he really, really didn’t want to push.

(Except that he kind of did… Which was rude, and basically awful.)

Akashi’s gaze wandered toward the ground. He looked troubled, uncomfortable. Furihata’s insides lurched with guilt.

“My house here doesn’t see much in the way of company, at the moment,” Akashi said, in a halting voice.

Beneath his lowered lids, his catlike eyes flickered. Like he was thinking unusually hard about something.

Furihata ignored the little stab of disappointment. “Yeah, that’s okay! Really. I’m not sure why I said that—”

“But you could on Wednesday.”

Leaves rustled overhead, caught in a sudden breeze. Furihata gaped at Akashi. Not processing this at all.

“What?” he mouthed. His voice wouldn’t quite come out.

Akashi raised his head. His long fingers tightened around the chains of the swing. He faced Furihata.

“You can come to my home, if you like,” he said, firmly. “Here, while I’m Tokyo. You can spend the night as well. I don’t know that it will be particularly enjoyable, but…”

He fell silent. At some point, Furihata realized that his mouth was literally hanging open. He tried to shut it, but his jaw kept dropping.

Akashi was seriously inviting him to spend the night? At his house? And not a month from now, or even a week, but in just a few days…?

“I’d love to,” Furihata cried. He stopped to add, in a meeker tone, “But—but are you really sure you don’t mind? I didn’t mean to be so pushy. It’s okay if you’re not comfortable with it.”

Akashi’s mouth twitched. For a second, Furihata was positive Akashi would take it all back. But he shook his head.

“No, I—” He trailed off, glancing toward the street. He gave Furihata a composed smile. “I’m quite sure. I would enjoy your company.”

Furihata couldn’t believe this was actually happening. Maybe the walls between them weren’t as high as he thought.

“Great!” he said, in another rush of excitement. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“I’m glad,” Akashi said. His tone was completely genuine. Like always. Furihata could tell he meant what he said.

But for some reason, even in the sweltering heat, a shiver tripped down Furihata’s spine. In that moment, he sensed something strange. A feeling like dread, almost. But he couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

He was sure he must be wrong. He had to be. Because if he didn’t know better, Furihata would have thought Akashi felt guilty for inviting him.

And he couldn’t understand why.

* * *

_The prince mounted his horse, and gazed down at the second son. And though he knew in his innermost soul that what he was about to do was wrong, he said…_

_“You may not come with me today. But if you are in earnest, come to the castle in three days’ time, and you may see what is inside.”_

_The second son eagerly agreed. The prince bid him farewell, and started down the road. All the while he thought of the fragile light on the candle, and the boy’s glowing smile. And he thought of the castle, his home, and the terrifying curse that lay upon it._

_And the prince prayed, with all his heart, that the boy would change his mind._

**~ End of Part One ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I don't have as many cultural notes about this chapter as usual, but I did want to share some quick links about [tatami rooms](http://www.japan-guide.com/e/e2007.html) and [butsudan](http://jpnreligions.weebly.com/household-rituals.html), the Buddhist shrines [some Japanese families](http://japaneseties.blogspot.com/2011/05/butsudan-bringing-buddha-to-home.html) keep in their homes. (No notes on [my Tumblr](http://www.courtingstars.tumblr.com) this time! Though I'll probably rant there about this chapter and how fun-yet-hard it was to write, so if you like that sort of thing, feel free to stop by? //laughs)
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed Part One! I certainly enjoyed writing it. <3 I've already started writing Part Two, and I'll post the next chapter as soon as I can. (As you can probably tell, this story is about to get a little, um, _intense_.) Until next time!


	6. Lurking Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again to all my wonderful readers out there! Thank you so much for all your amazing comments on the last chapter. (And hopefully most of you received a response from me... I'm still working on a couple of replies, but you should get them by the end of today. OTL) I had some cultural notes for this chapter, and some general thoughts about Akashi's home life, so you can read those at my Tumblr [over here](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/post/158947015627/notes-for-storming-the-castle-ch-7). Thank you so much for your support, and I really hope you enjoy the start of Part Two. <3
> 
> Also, **a warning** : My portrayal of the Akashi family will include references and depictions of **emotional neglect and abuse** , as well as **dissociation as a lasting effect of trauma on a child** (particularly due to the death of a caregiver). The first scene in this chapter is one of these. You can read more about this in [my post on Tumblr](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/post/158947015627/notes-for-storming-the-castle-ch-7). I'll always warn about these scenes so you can skim/skip them as needed.

_Once upon a time, there stood a magnificent castle, with high towers that shone red in the sun. A very powerful king and his gifted queen lived inside its walls. Together they worked all kinds of magic, so that their kingdom greatly prospered._

_But the castle had a terrible curse placed upon it. The king and queen were warned of the curse many times. “Your happiness will not last, your majesties. The curse is too strong, even for you. One day it will overwhelm you, and destroy those you love along with it.”_

_The king and queen did not falter. For they were certain beyond any doubt that they could overcome the curse. The king believed he could break it with power, and control. The queen believed she could break it with love and sacrifice._

_In the end, it conquered them both._

_But their greatest fear, the one they never spoke to one another aloud, was that the curse would claim their treasured and only son._

_And they were right._

* * *

Akashi descended the stairs, one at a time. He tried to remember the speech he had practiced, when he couldn’t sleep the night before. Unfortunately, he couldn’t recall a word of it now.

His hand slid along the banister. Akashi could see his fingertips skimming over the polished wood, but they didn’t feel attached to his body. As though it was just a phantom hand, that didn’t belong to anyone. He drew a harsh breath.

_What is wrong with me?_

He stubbornly ignored the way his pulse throbbed in his throat, as he approached the dining room. The stately chamber was as spotless as ever—and dark-walled, without a single window. Suits of armor, both Japanese and Western, stood in the corners.

Akashi’s gaze darted to the far end of the table. The chair there was empty. His insides gave a familiar lurch.

_I’m being childish._

“Good morning, young master,” the butler said, as Akashi’s valet pulled out his chair. Akashi took his seat without looking. The motion was automatic, as routine as waking and getting dressed. “Will the Eggs Royale be acceptable for your breakfast?”

“Yes, that will be fine.” Akashi heard, rather than felt, himself say it. The words sounded faint, hollow.

He had never quite mastered the trick of talking this way. When he was a child, he would look the butler in the eye, and smile warmly at him, and say, “That would be very nice, thank you.” Until the day came when he was told this was incorrect—and he was sharply ordered to stop.

_“Do not express gratitude toward a servant who has done nothing but perform his duties. It is grossly disrespectful to them, not to mention beneath you.”_

This lecture never addressed the fact that someone else used to thanked the servants. She was never reproached for it, of course. But things like that were irrelevant now.

Akashi couldn’t see the clock—it ticked steadily on the wall behind his head—but he knew from a glance beforehand that it was exactly a quarter to seven.

He always came down to breakfast at this time. A minute earlier, and the food might not remain at the ideal temperature. Any later, and Akashi risked being the second person to sit down at this table, as well as the remarks about discipline that would inevitably follow.

The servants reappeared, carrying a series of covered silver trays. Akashi counted the trays inside his head. His father would be joining him.

His chest tightened, as the servants placed the trays on warmers on the sideboard. Minutes ticked away, as Akashi tried again to remember his speech. He couldn’t seem to sort out his thoughts.

He took measured breaths. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember it, Akashi told himself. He just needed to stay as articulate as possible, to avoid shutting down. His other self wasn’t awake to say the appropriate things in his place, if his thoughts froze.

Akashi didn’t quite understand why his eloquence so often failed him, in this room.

But it would be fine. There was no reason at all that this should be difficult. He only needed to make a simple request… Akashi tried not to contemplate the fact that he didn’t know what the response would be. Especially since he had never asked such a thing before.

Maybe he shouldn’t ask, he thought. He could always act on his own.

Akashi shook his head. He needed to try. He couldn’t risk what might happen, if he didn’t at least attempt it.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, when footsteps echoed out in the hall. Akashi stiffened in his chair, as his father approached.

Akashi Masaomi walked in the same manner he did everything: with relentless precision. Two steps to the second. Neither more nor less. Brisk, but measured. Never rushed.

One, two. One, two. One, two…

The servants moved to form a line beside the door. Akashi rose, feeling light-headed. It was a familiar sensation, as though he was untethered from his body. He tried to ignore it. He saw in his peripheral vision when the servants all moved in unison. They bowed low, from the waist.

“Good morning, Master,” they chorused.

Akashi bowed his head and shoulders, as a shadow passed beside him. _‘An Akashi never bows too deeply. Do not lower yourself beyond what is appropriate—unless you have already lowered yourself, by failing others with your actions.’_

“Good morning, Father,” Akashi said. Or thought he did. He didn’t quite hear his own voice.

“Good morning,” came the curt reply, to all of them.

Akashi resumed his seat, and the servants hurried to serve breakfast. Gold-rimmed china and silverware were arranged before him. One of the servants poured tea. She then placed the saucer on Akashi’s end of the table, without making a sound. At the other end, the butler was serving his father’s coffee.

His father was paging through a small stack of newspapers. His narrow eyes darted back and forth. Every morning, he skimmed three Japanese papers, along with one from America and one from China. Occasionally, an English and a Russian paper were added. More often, he used his tablet to scan articles on the way to his office.

Akashi had asked, once, if the tablet wasn’t adequate for all of it. (Well, his other self had asked… Akashi couldn’t actually remember the last time he had asked his father a question.)

_“It will be, soon enough. Print newspapers have been inferior technology for decades. But the media in all forms has considerable influence. It is imperative to remain abreast of public opinion.”_

Akashi made an effort to eat. He chewed and swallowed, without actually tasting anything. All the while, he watched his father out of the corner of his eye.

Eventually, his father set the last paper aside. Akashi’s heart, already beating much too fast, leapt into his throat. He sucked in one last breath, as the butler cleared the papers away.

_It will be fine. All you need to do is ask. It’s a simple question._

_It will be fine._

Akashi had spoken with his father only a handful of times since the Winter Cup. The first time, his father had greeted him by saying, “I was informed you lost your championship match.” (Not “your team.” Simply “you.”) Until that moment, Akashi hadn’t been in his father’s presence for years. Not as himself.

Still, he had managed to say that yes, he had lost—even as blood thrummed loudly in his ears and he fought to breathe. His father said in his sternest voice, “I see.” He commanded Akashi to reflect on his failings.

Then, oddly enough, he changed the subject. At which point Akashi silently thanked every benevolent force in the universe that his father had not actually seen the game.

Another time, it was early spring, toward the end of the school year. His father said offhandedly as he was leaving, “I assume your basketball team did not reelect you.” And Akashi said, as calmly as he could, that his teammates had in fact been so gracious as to re-entrust him with the captaincy. His father’s frown had deepened.

He said, as he walked toward the door, “Then you may as well take this opportunity to learn how to atone for a failure. But the trust they’re placing in you is unwarranted. I hope you properly humbled yourself.”

Akashi barely managed to choke out, “Yes, Father.” And he didn’t have any idea if it was from rising shame at the rebuke, or the memory of the day at practice when he _had_ apologized to his coach and his teammates, and they so generously forgave him… Or simply an overwhelming rush of gratitude, that he hadn’t been ordered to quit the team after all.

Back in the present, Akashi tried to remind himself of these moments. His father was unexpectedly gracious, about the worst failure of his life so far. Surely there was no reason to fear making a simple request.

Akashi opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The room felt too hot, even though he knew it wasn’t.

_You’re being ridiculous, it will be fine, you’re being ridiculous…_

The butler approached his father again. He spoke quietly, something that Akashi’s ringing ears didn’t catch. His father’s brow crinkled.

“I see,” he said. “Have my assistant call them immediately. We’ll need to reschedule.”

The butler nodded and left. Akashi’s father rose, leaving breakfast unfinished. Akashi blinked, his mouth still partway open. One of the valets brought over a suit jacket. His father shrugged into the jacket, and glanced at Akashi.

“I’m leaving early,” he said. “There won’t be any time for you at the office, so you’re to remain here. See that you make good use of the morning. Don’t forget to tell your international relations tutor he is dismissed.”

“Yes, Father,” Akashi rushed to say. His pulse sprinted as he forced himself to add, “I—I hoped I might ask you something.”

“Is it absolutely necessary?” His father gave him a sharp look. “I trust you’re capable of exercising adequate judgment, whatever the issue may be.”

“Yes, Father, of course. I simply wondered if I might—”

“I must go, at once.” His father was eyeing the clock. “I’ll leave it to your discretion. You’re familiar enough with what is and is not appropriate. I will see you at dinner on Thursday. Assuming my schedule does not change.”

With that, he left the dining room. The strident rhythm of his footsteps gradually faded. Akashi’s posture sagged, as he sank into the chair cushions. He let out a sigh.

That could have been worse, he told himself. Much worse.

He stared at the empty chair, so far across from him. His hands were trembling, he noted. With something between detachment and confusion. He shook his head, as he thought back over the minute-long exchange.

Akashi did know, for the most part, what his father considered appropriate. Not in this case. He had no idea if his father would agree to a friend coming to visit him—however reluctantly, citing the value of Akashi’s time—or refuse in disgust. His father used to approve of the occasional play date, long ago. At his mother’s suggestion, when his friends were from important families. All of that was different now.

Which meant the decision was left to Akashi.

Akashi relaxed further into his chair. This was the ideal outcome, he thought. His father was meeting with associates in Osaka, starting that afternoon. He wouldn’t be home until Thursday. And now that his morning was free, Akashi could call all his tutors and reschedule his Wednesday lessons with ease.

He would have the whole day, to spend time with Furihata. Just the two of them.

Akashi had planned this from the start, when he invited Furihata to visit. But he hadn’t guessed it would go so smoothly.

He tried not to think about all the things that could still go wrong. He couldn’t recall going behind his father’s back so blatantly before. Dark thoughts crept in the back of his mind, hissing at him, _“You know he would never approve. You weren’t going to tell him the whole truth in the first place. Do you really think any of this is going to end well?”_

Akashi resolutely ignored that question. He finished as much of his breakfast as he could manage. He then dabbed his mouth with his napkin, and signaled the butler, who had returned to the dining room.

The silver-haired man approached him readily. “Yes, young master?”

“I have some arrangements to make,” Akashi said. “A friend of mine is coming to visit tomorrow. He will be spending the night here.”

The butler stared at him. Over in the corner, his valet and the head housekeeper subtly exchanged looks. Akashi knew exactly what they were thinking.

“As you say, young master,” the butler said, with a tentative nod. “How would you like for us to prepare?”

Akashi carefully began his list. All the while, he reassured himself that everything would be fine.

After all, the most difficult part was over.

* * *

Akashi was regretting everything, at the moment.

He paced beside the window in his sitting room. It was Wednesday morning. The weather was on the cloudy side, but otherwise pleasant enough. Yet as far as Akashi was concerned, the sky may as well have been collapsing.

He flipped open his phone, to look at his most recent message again. He had read the three short sentences over and over, since receiving them the night before.

_Okay, goodnight! See you tomorrow._

_(I’m so excited I probably won’t be able to sleep, haha.)_

Akashi’s stomach reeled. He knew Furihata always looked forward to seeing him, no matter the circumstances. But it was painfully clear that his friend didn’t understand the situation, at all.

Of course, that was Akashi’s fault. Why had he gone through with this, again?

He crossed his arms tightly. Still pacing back and forth.

He hadn’t invited anyone to visit one of his homes in years. Not because he didn’t trust the friends he had made since. On the contrary, he felt much closer to them, than to any of the so-called friends he had in grade school.

Which was exactly why Akashi didn’t want them to know what sort of life he led.

Akashi knew that his life outside of school bore no resemblance to those of his friends. He was required to be polite at all times. To keep his emotions under control, and ensure his actions always reflected well on his family. Everything was formal, regimented—and cold.

Even at home, Akashi couldn’t entirely relax. He was always studying, for one thing. And he was expected to treat the servants, as well as his tutors, with the proper distance. He was accustomed to it.

But he couldn’t imagine how the place would make someone like Furihata feel.

The Akashi residences were grand, and _imposing_. They were designed to assert the family’s wealth and power. The size, the décor, and even the straight-faced servants were calculated to impress. Not welcome people, or put them at ease.

They certainly bore no resemblance to Furihata’s house, at all. Akashi’s heart gave a twinge as he recalled it. Furihata’s family was so welcoming. Everything about their home mirrored that warmth. It was a place for comfort, closeness.

Akashi’s home was the polar opposite. And Furihata didn’t seem to anticipate that.

Akashi grimaced. Furihata was bound to be uncomfortable during the visit. Akashi had told the servants to keep the formalities to a minimum. But they couldn’t throw out protocol altogether—and even if they could, Akashi doubted it would keep Furihata from feeling intimidated.

From the start, Akashi had meant to shield Furihata from his home life. To spare him, from fussy rules and unfamiliar expectations. He didn’t want his friend to worry, or feel out of place.

Instead of protecting Furihata, Akashi had invited him right into his home. Without so much as a warning.

Akashi thought back to that crucial moment, when they were sitting on the swing set. When Furihata suddenly blurted that Akashi could invite him to visit. For some reason, Akashi had remembered his father would be out of town—and the offer just slipped out.

Akashi couldn’t understand what had possessed him. He was thinking about how he wanted to see Furihata again. As much as he could, during their vacation. But why had he done _that_ , of all things?

Well, he knew why. He massaged his forehead. Furihata had been so open with him on that morning. He even talked about his grandmother’s passing. It was difficult for Akashi to explain how deeply that conversation had touched him.

_“I don’t mind at all. If it’s you.”_

In that moment, Furihata sounded almost glad, to have shared something that was obviously still painful for him. Akashi didn’t entirely understand that, but he was glad too. Furihata’s trust in him was an honor. One he cherished, without any reservations.

And somehow, the exchange made Akashi wonder if despite his concerns, all the very valid reasons for keeping to himself, he could try to confide more deeply in Furihata too. He felt so close to his friend already. He treasured that feeling. And he wanted _more_.

But it was one thing for Akashi to try to talk more about himself… It was another thing entirely, to invite Furihata to a place where he would be uncomfortable. It was careless, and selfish.

That was really the crux of it, Akashi thought with chagrin. As usual, there was just a self-centered part of him that was tired of feeling isolated. A foolish part that wanted to try to end it, no matter the cost to anyone else.

But it didn’t work that way. And now his idiotic impulse might ruin everything—

_Good to see you’re feeling chipper, as usual._

Oh, god. Akashi outright winced, as the familiar voice echoed inside his mind. This was just what he needed.

“Why are you awake?” he muttered. “Now, of all times.”

_Always a joy to hear from you too, brother dear. And for your information, you have no one to blame for this development except yourself._

Akashi frowned, confused. But his other self went right on, of course.

_As you may recall, you and I are required to share this brain. And you seem to be agitating it considerably._

“I see.” Akashi sighed. “I apologize for disturbing you. I’ll make an effort to be calmer. There’s no need to abandon your rest for my sake.”

_Oh, well, now I’m intrigued. What ill-advised nonsense are you up to now? Since you so clearly don’t want me to know._

Akashi clenched his jaw. Thinking, quite loudly, that it was none of his other self’s concern. Not that his little brother was listening to him. He was too busy rooting through Akashi’s thoughts, to bring himself up to date on recent events. It was something they could both do, one of the benefits of their shared consciousness.

Well, sometimes it was a benefit. Other times, less so.

_Oh god… You can’t be serious._

Akashi fought a groan. He knew where this was headed.

_I really hope this is a joke. You invited that nameless Seirin boy to come here? For some sort of **sleepover**?_

“Furihata-kun has a name.” Akashi’s hands tightened into fists. “As you know perfectly well.”

_And you knew what **I** meant. Nameless. Definition: obscure or undistinguished. More specifically, not marked by eminence, distinction, or quality. As in an undistinguished career, an undistinguished person, et cetera. Shall I continue?_

Akashi glowered. He didn’t know where to begin, with any of that.

_And yes, I am aware of what the object of your baffling obsession calls himself. What I do not understand, is why this fixation of yours has caused you to behave in such irrational, foolish ways. Even by your standards._

An uneasy flush crawled up Akashi’s neck. Obsession? Somehow he felt guiltier than ever. He couldn’t justify what he was doing, not even to himself. And yet…

“I am not obsessed,” he said inside his mind, very evenly. “He’s a dear friend. And I am returning the favor, after staying overnight at his home. Which, by the way, was a enjoyable experience.”

In his mind’s eye, his other self lifted a brow. He was sitting in their shared space, an imaginary construct that resembled an empty chamber. A simple block served as a chair. He had an odd look on his face.

_Apparently. These memories of yours are bizarre, I hope you know. I can’t make any sense of them. Why were you laughing at a pumpkin?_

“I wasn’t—never mind.” Akashi heaved another sigh. “Would you be so kind as to go back to sleep? I have no desire to be distracted by you today.”

Akashi knew he shouldn’t be worried, in theory. His younger brother couldn’t take control of their body without his permission. Still, he didn’t want to be forced to listen to an endless loop of biting commentary, on top of everything else that could go wrong.

His other self glared at him. Mouth pressed flat.

_You realize Father would never approve of this. And for the record, I don’t either._

Akashi could no longer suppress his agitation.

“I am aware,” he snapped. “Unfortunately, you’re going to have to defer to my judgment for the time being.”

His other self gazed at him in silence. Then he rolled his mismatched eyes.

_Fine. I’m far too tired to deal with this absurdity—or the inevitable fallout, when your mousy little friend skitters away for any number of reasons. You talking to me being the least of them._

_But don’t come whining to me, when you’re sobbing your eyes out over it._

“I have **never** —” Akashi grit his teeth, then forced a long, level breath. “Thank you, very much, for your concern. And I agree that it wasn’t my finest decision. The blame is entirely mine. I won’t trouble you with the consequences.”

_Very well. Then good luck, I suppose. With… whatever the hell this is._

His other self stood, inside the shared part of their mind. He strode toward the darkness that lurked around the edge, and disappeared.

Akashi moaned aloud, as he slumped forward and pressed his brow against the nearest wall. His head was beginning to ache.

Really, discreet servants were the least of his problems. Akashi spoke on a regular basis to a person whose mere existence—or at the very least, his individuality—was up for debate. They didn’t just talk, either. Akashi argued with him. Constantly. Inside his own head.

Why had he wanted to confide more in Furihata, again?

Akashi rubbed his temples, hard. He truly didn’t want to keep pushing Furihata away. But there were so many things he hadn’t told him. About himself, and his family. Things that would force Furihata to see him in a different light, if he knew.

In the end, Akashi didn’t want Furihata to see him any differently. He cherished the way his friend looked at him now. And wasn’t he determined, at all costs, to avoid putting their friendship in danger? To never do anything that could ruin the connection between them?

Akashi was reasonably certain he could protect Furihata, from the more precarious aspects of his home life. From the two people who might treat him poorly. Akashi had done everything he could, to ensure that Furihata wouldn’t meet either one of them. The thought that Furihata could be hurt because of his invitation was unbearable.

But their friendship would still change after this visit. In one way or another. All due to Akashi’s inexplicable lapse in judgment.

His other self was right, Akashi realized. He _was_ behaving irrationally. His emotions were increasingly erratic, and so were his decisions. Ever since the Winter Cup, all his usual self-assurance kept going out the window.

Especially when it came to Furihata. Akashi felt uncertain, constantly off balance. Maybe it was true. Maybe he _was_ acting oddly, because of his new friend.

But Akashi didn’t really understand why that would be.

He looked at the clock on his mantle. It was still well over two hours until Furihata would arrive. He felt tense, suddenly. Claustrophobic. Like he was on the verge of clawing his way out of the well-papered walls.

Akashi had always found his family’s house in Tokyo strangely uncomfortable. Unlike the Kyoto estate, it had a way of darkening his mood, one he couldn’t explain. It was as though the air in the place weighed down on him, casting a shadow across his thoughts. The house wasn’t small by any means, but it still felt cramped, gloomy. Perhaps it was all the heavy drapery on the windows.

Akashi flattened his palms against the wall. Both of his hands were tingling. He felt overly present, sharply aware of his surroundings. He usually only felt this way before a basketball match… There was a knot inside him, a growing flutter, that kept working its way upward from his stomach into his chest.

Akashi was nervous, of course. Dreading what could happen. But it was almost as if…

It was almost as if he felt excited, too.

… Was he really this eager, just to see Furihata again? In spite of everything?

Akashi shook his head. He took out his phone once more.

Not for the first time, he considered messaging Furihata, to claim they couldn’t meet at his house. To put a stop to this. Somehow, no matter what he did, Akashi couldn’t seem to escape a feeling of foreboding. As though the outcome of this visit, whatever it was, would be irreversible.

He had the distinct feeling he would regret it. He was rarely ever wrong.

In the end, Akashi set his phone aside. It was too late, he told himself. What was done was done. The servants had made preparations. Furihata likely packed a bag hours ago. Despite his dread, Akashi couldn’t bring himself to disappoint his friend.

He closed his eyes. He saw again the way Furihata’s face lit up—the sparkle in his small brown irises, and the eagerness of his smile, in response to Akashi’s invitation. _“I’d love to!”_

Akashi flinched. He truly hoped Furihata was right about that.

He went into his bedroom, making his way to the closet. He still had over two hours. Perhaps he just needed to get out of the house, to clear his head. The last thing he wanted was to be in such an agitated state when Furihata arrived.

Fortunately, Akashi knew a simple way to distract himself. A way that would also help his oldest and closest friend. The only companion he had who knew everything about his home life, and who accepted him regardless.

Right now, that was just what Akashi needed.

* * *

Akashi landed soundly on the path. He loosened the lead rope, so he could walk alongside the beautiful white horse he had just dismounted. Only to receive a nicker close beside his ear, and a disapproving nudge from the horse in question.

“I know.” Akashi chuckled, in spite of his persisting nerves. “You want to jump. But I don’t have time today. I have a friend coming to visit.”

Yukimaru eyed him, and snorted lightly. Like he didn’t actually believe this.

“Yes, it is unusual.” Akashi rubbed the horse’s neck, as he led him along. “I’m, well… I’m anxious about it, to tell the truth. As you noticed already.”

Yukimaru snorted again, and raised his head. He had been the one to set the pace, for the most part, in their twenty-minute ride down the path. As if to say, _“You are oddly skittish today, so I will take the lead.”_

They walked along the tree-shadowed lane. It was a novelty in Tokyo, a narrow trail that wound behind the Akashi grounds and the rest of the nearby homes. Many of these households kept horses as well. The path led to a riding arena, paddocks, and stables, where the horses stayed when they were in the city. It was a state-of-the-art facility, with a highly trained staff. Yukimaru had spent much of his life there.

Still, Akashi couldn’t help thinking of their much larger estate in Kyoto, of all the room and relative freedom Yukimaru had on its vast grounds. Much like he did.

“I’ll have you taken you to the arena later on,” Akashi said. “Your groom will see that you work off some of that energy properly.”

He stroked Yukimaru’s mane, and scratched his ears. Yukimaru looked at him for a moment. Then he leaned close and nuzzled Akashi’s neck. Sensing, it seemed, that he wasn’t the only restless one. Akashi looped an arm around his longtime companion.

“I know,” he murmured. “You don’t enjoy being here anymore. I don't blame you.”

Yukimaru whinnied softly. Akashi laughed a bit.

“I will be fine,” he said. He led Yukimaru through a gate, into the sprawling English-style garden that surrounded the Akashis’ house. It was lush and green, overflowing with roses in full bloom.

Akashi repeated his answer inside his mind. He felt better now, after his short ride and some fresh air. There was no reason to be so gloomy and pessimistic, he decided. He was going to make the best of this, whatever it took. He had everything under control.

He would make Furihata feel welcome, even if he had to do it singlehandedly.

He let out a tight breath, and glanced at Yukimaru. The horse was watching him.

“I will be,” he said again. “He’s very kind. One of the dearest friends I’ve ever had.”

He smiled softly, an involuntary gesture.

“I would bring him to meet you,” he added. “But somehow I doubt you’ll behave.”

He gave Yukimaru a keen look. Yukimaru had something of a history of terrorizing Akashi’s acquaintances, the sons and daughters of other wellborn families. Most of the incidents had occurred when Akashi was younger. But it still happened occasionally, during society gatherings of one kind or another, when some curious person asked to see Akashi’s much-admired horse.

For whatever reason, Yukimaru seemed to delight in startling these individuals. He had stolen multiple hats, and caused one especially well-dressed and sharp-tongued young lady to fall into a mud puddle. He could even be difficult with his handlers. His groom in Kyoto was one of the few people who managed him with ease, so he had come to Tokyo to keep an eye on him during Akashi’s vacation.

Akashi shook his head at the memories. “I like to think I’m not hopelessly spoiled, all things considered. But you certainly are.”

Yukimaru huffed, like this was of little consequence.

“To you, maybe. I’m the one who has to smooth things over, whenever you make a scene,” Akashi said, as they exchanged another look. “In any case, I won’t have you frightening my friend. He’s really quite sensitive.”

Akashi could have sworn a spark of mischief was gleaming in his horse’s large eyes.

“Absolutely not,” he said firmly, and Yukimaru huffed again.

They wandered across a stretch of lawn, beside some rose hedges. It was a familiar route. Before Akashi was old enough to ride Yukimaru, he used to lead him around the family grounds, with his mother’s help. Then they would take him to a grassy, fenced-in paddock to play. Akashi even had memories of Yukimaru gamboling around in that paddock with his mother, Shirahime, when he was a young colt.

Akashi smiled at the recollection. The garden was one of the few places in the Tokyo house where he always felt at ease. He had spent so much time here with his mother. She used to sit in the shade, and watch him play. He even played here with children from his grade school, on occasion. They hadn’t turned out to be the most loyal of friends. But he could recall enjoying himself, at least some of the time.

He pictured those days, absently. All those games of hide-and-seek and make-believe. Instead of the children from his school, he imagined playing with a knock-kneed little boy, with flyaway brown hair. A boy who loved trains and fairy tales.

Akashi had liked to choose the games when he was younger. But he would have done whatever that little boy wanted.

He would have pretended to be in a story for hours on end. Playing any part. The hero, slaying dragons, or the monster, chasing the little boy around the lawn. Or, if the boy wanted someone to save, Akashi would have played the enchanted prince. (Or princess, he supposed.) Waiting to be rescued from a tower, to be taken behind the rose hedges and bandaged and kissed on the cheek…

Akashi blinked. That was an odd thought. He wasn’t sure where it had come from. Those stories about Furihata’s childhood, presumably. Though it didn’t make much sense, even at that.

Yukimaru was eyeing him again. For some reason, Akashi was reminded of the odd look his other self gave him earlier.

“What?” Akashi was about to launch into an explanation, something about how his thoughts were just wandering, when footsteps sounded nearby. He turned, only to see the butler hurrying toward him.

“Please excuse me, young master,” the butler said, stopping to bow. “But it seems your guest has arrived.”

Akashi gave a start. He thought only an hour had passed, at most. Had he lost track of time that badly?

“Arrived?” he echoed. “You mean at the station?”

Akashi had instructed his chauffeur to go to the nearest train station to meet Furihata. He would then bring him to the house, since it was such a long walk. (Akashi’s neighborhood wasn’t exactly easy to access from public transport.)

“No, he appears to have come here on his own,” the butler said, to Akashi’s continued disbelief. “It’s only two o’clock.”

Well, that explained part of the situation, at least. Akashi’s gaze darted toward the house. “Did you admit him already?”

The butler shook his head. “He’s down at the gate, but he hasn’t rung yet. I’m not certain as to why. Takeda spotted him there.” He hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Would you like for us to receive him, young master?”

Akashi’s thoughts were racing. He was standing in the garden, with a haltered horse at his side. Wearing boots and riding breeches. Trying to decide if he should call for the groom, and if it was worth scrambling to change clothes or not.

At the same time, he couldn’t help laughing inwardly. _He really was excited. Now he’s probably trying to work up the courage to ring the bell._

Akashi opened his mouth to say yes, then paused. A mischievous urge came over him, in that moment. To surprise his friend, just as he had been taken by surprise.

“There’s no need to send anyone,” he told the butler, in a calm voice. “But you should have them open the gate.”

The butler seemed confused. Akashi glanced over at Yukimaru. He allowed a smile to inch across his mouth.

“I will show him in myself.” Akashi retied the lead rope like reins, and swiftly mounted his horse. Yukimaru snorted his approval.

In an instant, the two of them were riding together toward the front of the house. They would soon be cantering down the wide lane between the well-groomed trees. Until they reached the front gate—and Furihata.


	7. Out of a Fairy Tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers! It’s been a while… If you’re still following this fic, I just want to say thank you for your patience, during the terribly long wait for this chapter. I can’t begin to express how grateful I am for all the kind comments and kudos I’ve received on this series. They encouraged me to keep working, during a really difficult year.
> 
> The truth is, I nearly gave up on trying to get this chapter right… I can’t count how many drafts I did, and I’m still not entirely satisfied. Maybe the worst part is that I seriously have the nicest readers ever, and you all deserve the best story possible. So I just want to say I’m truly sorry, both for the wait, and if this chapter has problems. I did my best to fix the issues I found, but I’ve decided it’s time to let go and go on to writing the next part. I promise to keep doing the best I can, and again, thank you all for being so amazing. You’re the reason I’m still writing this story, and a major reason I’m still writing at all, and there is no way I can ever thank you enough for that.

_The days passed, as the second son waited faithfully for the day when he would visit the prince. He had always been quiet, preferring to sit in a corner and keep to himself, as he tended to his candle. Since he had met the prince, however, he had grown even quieter than before, lost in constant daydreams._

_He had told his family of the prince’s invitation, and they marveled at it. All his life, the second son had dreamed of one day visiting the castle. But he had never heard of the terrible curse that had befallen it, and neither had his family. They could not help but wonder why a prince would allow a commoner to enter such a grand place. The prince was truly generous, they said to one another, and good of heart._

_How strange it was, they said, that he was rumored to rarely leave his castle. For why would such a kind-hearted person seek to shut himself away from the world?_

_For three days, the son tried to imagine what awaited him inside the castle. He thought of the prince too, of his warm smile and gentle voice. Whenever the son did this, the flame on his candle grew brighter. He did not know what it meant—only that the prince seemed to be the reason, for the light that was welling up stronger than ever, beneath his cautious touch._

_And so when the time came, the second son bid farewell to his family, and set out for the castle. He brought his candle with him, as always, even though it was midday. The little fire glowed before him like a star. Eagerly, he climbed a steep road that wound its way up a mountainside._

_All the while, he thought of the prince. And he never once guessed what awaited him, when he reached his journey’s end._

* * *

Furihata had to be dreaming.

He was standing in front of the most unbelievable gate. The enormous doors were made of red-tinged metal, molded into a design of bars and curls. All over the bars were flower-shaped sculptures that he guessed were chrysanthemums. One of the posts had some kind of intercom mounted on it. Above it was a plaque that read, “Akashi.”

So this was definitely the place. It didn’t seem real, though.

Furihata clutched the leather-bound book he was carrying. He had brought the book of fairy tales, to return to Akashi. He kept holding it tighter against his chest. Like it could somehow explain the gate, and everything else he was seeing. He almost couldn’t remember how he got here, at this point.

He did remember waking up too early that morning… He was dreaming again. It was one of those weird dreams about rain. But the rain wasn’t the part that stuck out in Furihata’s mind…

He was wandering through a huge house—or maybe it was a castle, he wasn’t really sure—filled with twisting hallways. It was dark, hard to see. But now and then, lightning flashed outside the windows, and he got a glimpse of his surroundings. Everything was a wreck. The curtains were in dusty tatters, and furniture lay in broken piles on the floor.

There were all these closed doors, too. Furihata kept trying to open them, but they were always locked.

He was getting frustrated, and running around. But the more he ran, the more a feeling of panic swelled through him. He was getting cold all over, and shaky. He could have sworn a bunch of people were watching him, hiding just out of his sight. They whispered things he couldn’t hear, while he tried door after door.

There was this one door he kept trying, with a gigantic padlock on it. He knew he needed to get inside that room, no matter what. But he couldn’t.

Furihata started shouting at the top of his lungs, calling for help, over and over. Nobody answered. Thunder roared in the distance. He hoped it was thunder… He hoped nothing alive was making a sound like that…

Then something slipped past him. Almost like a breeze.

A woman stood at the foot of a stairwell. She had long hair, that fluttered loose around her shoulders, and a gentle smile. Furihata couldn’t see her very well. She almost looked like she was made out of mist.

“You’re very brave,” she said. Even though her small, rosebud-shaped lips didn’t move. “To come here all by yourself. It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

She nodded to the ruined walls. Furihata managed a nod of his own.

“It wasn’t always,” the woman said, sadly. “Did you want to wake him?”

And Furihata didn’t understand, not really, but he said yes. He was trying as hard as he could, he said, but he couldn’t get past the locks. He needed a key.

The woman smiled at him. She was slender, doll-like, with sorrowful eyes. Furihata knew he had seen her before, but he couldn’t remember where.

“You already have what you need,” she told him.

Furihata looked down. Something very bright sat in his hand. Something shining.

“You can find your way with this,” the woman said, nodding to it. “It will open any door. I had something like it, once. But yours is even stronger than mine.”

She reached out and pressed his hand, so that his fingers closed tightly around the shining object.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her sad, unblinking eyes gleamed in the dark. “And please… Try not to be afraid. No matter what you see.”

Furihata didn’t actually remember what happened after that. But, well… He sort of woke up screaming? Loud enough that his brother came into his room, to ask if he was okay. Which was super awkward, since Furihata had no idea why he screamed in the first place. He couldn’t remember anything in the dream scaring him.

He still had a weird, nagging feeling he knew the woman from the dream… He kept trying to place her, to picture her face. But the image in his head was just too hazy.

Anyway, Furihata figured he was just dreaming because he was too excited. It took him hours to fall asleep, after he messaged Akashi the night before. He couldn’t stop wondering what Akashi’s house would be like, and what they’d do together, and if he would meet anyone from Akashi’s family.

Furihata had to admit he was kind of nervous about that last part. Akashi had mentioned before that he lived with his father when he was in Tokyo, but not much else. Furihata did get the impression that Akashi’s dad was pretty strict.

It would be okay though, Furihata decided. Even if Akashi’s house was ultra fancy, and he had no clue how he was supposed to act. Even if he did something dumb, or made a bad first impression.

Because the important thing was, he would get to see Akashi.

When Furihata told his parents about the visit, he was surprised by their reaction. He thought his mom would scold him, for imposing on Akashi again… Instead she gave him a thoughtful look, and said it sounded like a nice idea. Furihata’s dad just smiled and told him to have a good time.

(Furihata was starting to get the impression his parents had talked about Akashi in private. He wasn’t sure about what, exactly… But it seemed like his mother had changed her mind about some stuff, after Akashi’s visit.)

Long story short, Furihata ended up leaving his house way too early that morning. So early, that he arrived at the train station three whole hours before he was supposed to. When they were texting, Akashi had offered to send someone to pick him up, so at first Furihata was going to wait… He ended up getting too curious, though, and decided to walk to Akashi’s house by himself. He had the address, and he was pretty sure he could find it.

It was the most surreal walk of his life. At first there were all these big two-story homes—the prettiest Furihata had ever seen, anywhere. The houses had amazing gardens bursting with flowers, and even a few trees. The plants looked even more colorful beneath the gray clouds that hovered in the sky.

The homes gradually grew more spaced apart. Soon Furihata was strolling alone along a wide, empty lane lined with trees. He couldn’t see any of the houses from the street anymore. Just high stone walls, and glimpses of beautiful buildings in the distance, whenever he peeked between the barred gates.

It was so quiet, for a Tokyo suburb. No traffic. Once, a gate ahead of him opened, and a shiny black car drove out. The driver was a man in a uniform, with white gloves. The back windows were tinted, so Furihata couldn’t see who else was inside.

Furihata didn’t know a ton about cars. But he did know that one was a Lexus, one of their full size models. Not exactly surprising.

The driver eyed him from the car as it passed. Probably wondering if he was lost. Furihata was starting to feel like he was… Like he had wandered out of the Tokyo he knew, and into another place entirely.

Furihata wasn’t sure how long it took, until he found the gate with the right name on it. But he did, eventually. Now he was just standing in front of it and gawking. A paved drive lay beyond the gate, surrounded by a miniature forest of trees. Beyond the treetops rose a brick building, partially visible through the branches. Furihata couldn’t see much of it from where he stood, but the place looked huge.

Akashi lived there. Furihata couldn’t explain why that thought made his heart skip every other beat. He knew he was excited, but…

He wiped his sweaty brow. He felt jittery, and his stomach kept jumping around. But it wasn’t like he could just stand there forever. Just be normal, he reminded himself, as he moved to the intercom. That was the important thing.

He was here to see Akashi, after all. And he really didn’t want to give his good friend any reason to regret inviting him. Like being weird about where he lived, or anything like that.

Furihata took a deep, careful breath. He adjusted his bags, and tucked the book under his arm. Then he reached to press the button.

A sudden sound made him freeze. He didn’t recognize it: a rapid clatter that was steadily getting louder. Furihata backed away from the intercom to look between the bars, when the gate started to creak and shift. As the doors rolled apart on their own, the drive stretched out before him.

Which was when Furihata’s jaw basically fell down to his feet.

A horse was dashing straight toward him. Furihata could count the times he had seen a horse in real life on one hand. This wasn’t just any horse, either. From head to hoof, it was pure white, and its coat gleamed like snow reflecting the sun. Its ghostly mane rippled as it ran along.

Furihata had seen a picture before, of this particular horse. But the photo didn’t do it justice. It was by far the most beautiful animal he had ever seen.

Riding on the back of the horse was Akashi. He was shifting in perfect time with the ethereal animal. Sunlight spilled down through the trees, through a sudden break in the clouds. The beams blazed in Akashi’s red hair, until it shone like fire. Until it was impossible to tell who seemed brighter, Akashi or his horse.

In that moment, Furihata kind of felt like he was staring into the sun itself. Blinded.

He was so stunned he almost dropped the book. He didn’t even think to scramble out of the way. Which was probably a good thing, since Akashi slowed the horse to a measured stop in front of him.

Akashi smiled, from atop his snow-white horse. “Good afternoon, Furihata-kun.”

Furihata knew he was supposed to say something back. But his mouth felt stuck.

Now he knew he was dreaming. Here was his good friend, Akashi Seijuurou, riding around on the most regal horse in the universe like it was _normal_. Akashi even had on riding gear. He was in knee-high boots and those tight pants—Furihata couldn’t remember what they were called—and a fitted shirt with rolled-up sleeves.

He looked like a painting. Way too elegant and perfect to be real.

Like a character from a story, almost.

For a moment, Furihata got the strangest feeling that he had literally stumbled into a storybook. That he was in a fantasy world, the kind of place that wasn’t supposed to exist. A beautiful place with lots of trees, and horses, and houses so big they might as well be castles. It was like the collection of fairy tales under his arm had somehow come to life.

But maybe it was just because he had been reading all those stories way too much… Or because Furihata had never seen Akashi look so grown-up and refined before, in those sharply tailored clothes he was wearing…

Honestly though, up on that horse, Akashi kind of looked like…

Well, like a _prince_.

“It’s good to see you,” Akashi was saying. “It seems you didn’t require any assistance.”

His mouth twitched—he was clearly finding this funny in some way—and it took Furihata several seconds to have any clue what he was talking about. Furihata knew he should probably explain what happened, and apologize for leaving the station early. His brain was too stuck, though.

“You’re on a horse,” he said instead.

Akashi laughed. That soft, musical sound had always amazed Furihata—but it seemed even more surreal right now.

“I am, as a matter of fact.” He patted the horse on its muscular neck. “This is Yukimaru. I believe I told you about him before.”

“Y-yeah. You did.” Furihata gazed up at the horse. Horses were big, he realized. Especially when they were standing so close to you.

Yukimaru shifted on his slender legs. Furihata could have sworn the horse was studying him, with huge amber eyes. He had an oddly keen expression. A moment of mutual staring passed between them. Then Yukimaru tossed his well-groomed mane, and looked away.

“He’s beautiful,” Furihata stammered. Which was the most obvious statement ever. “I didn’t know he lived at your Tokyo house.”

“He doesn’t anymore, usually,” Akashi said. “But he was born in a facility down the road. We decided to bring him for a check-up with one of his specialists.”

“Wow.” Furihata didn’t know what else to say. He never expected to meet Akashi’s horse this soon. “But he’s okay?”

“Oh, yes. Healthy as a—well, you know.” Akashi chuckled, as he leaned forward.

Furihata watched in astonishment, while Akashi dismounted the horse. He moved so easily, like he was getting out of a chair. He landed on the ground with a light-footed leap. Looping the reins in his hand, he then turned to Furihata.

Furihata’s mouth was hanging open again. He clamped it shut, as a random burst of warmth whirled over his face. Akashi blinked, and Furihata knew he should say something. For some reason, though, his tongue wouldn’t move.

It wasn’t like Akashi was a stranger to him. But in this moment, it almost felt like they hadn’t met before.

Which didn’t make any sense. At all. The two of them were good friends. Furihata knew Akashi really well…

Right?

“May I help with your bags?” Akashi gestured politely to Furihata’s arms. “The valets will be glad to assist you once we reach the house, but… I may have rushed out ahead of them, when they told me you were here.”

His catlike eyes twinkled, in a way that was both apologetic and playful. A laugh burst from Furihata’s lips. It sounded weird, though. A little too high.

“N-no, I’ve got it,” he managed, trying to sound normal. (Jeez, why was he being so awkward? It was just Akashi.) “Thanks, though. It looks like your hands are already pretty full anyway.”

Akashi glanced at his horse, and the reins he was holding. His smile widened subtly. “That’s true. Well, shall we be on our way then?”

He led the way down the drive, and Furihata followed. Yukimaru was walking on Akashi’s other side. His horseshoes clacked out a clipped rhythm against the pavement.

“So, uh… Do you always greet people around here on horseback?” Furihata asked, as casually as he could. Akashi gave him an amused look.

“No, I believe you’re the first to receive the honor,” he said. His tone was teasing. “Would you say I surprised you?”

For some reason, Furihata couldn’t hold back another weird giggle. “Um, yeah? I think I almost had a heart attack.”

Akashi chuckled again, but his eyes noticeably softened. “I hope we didn’t frighten you.”

“No, no way! I was too amazed to be scared.” Furihata glanced up at Yukimaru. “Though I’ve never been this close to a horse before, to be honest.”

“Never?” Akashi said, and Furihata shook his head. “I suppose that does make sense. Sometimes I forget how rare horses can be in Tokyo.”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Furihata noticed that Yukimaru was eyeing him. “I, um… I’m not doing anything to bother him, am I?”

Akashi glanced up at the horse. For a moment, it almost seemed like some kind of silent communication was passing between them. Yukimaru snorted a breath through his nose, and Akashi raised a brow. He turned back to Furihata.

“You’re fine,” he said, with a reassuring smile. “He’s just curious about you. He can be a bit ill mannered. I apologize.”

He shot the horse another pointed look. Furihata laughed again, more easily now. “You’re apologizing for him?”

He was about to add that Yukimaru seemed fine to him—not that he knew anything about horse manners—when Akashi heaved a sigh.

“Well, it would be far from the first time,” he said. “I would have tried to introduce the two of you properly, but he’s never been very well-behaved around guests.”

Furihata blinked. He couldn’t help wondering what a proper introduction to a horse was supposed to be. Or what exactly Yukimaru had done to guests before.

Before he could ask, Akashi added, “Would you mind coming with me while I turn him out? I try not to make the groom’s job more difficult than it already is.”

“Yeah, sure,” Furihata said. Even though he didn’t know what ‘turn out’ meant. (At least he was pretty sure a groom was a person who took care of horses?)

He walked with Akashi toward the end of the drive. A Western-style mansion towered before them. Walls of red brick stretched out on either side, filled with rows of windows. A covered portico with a green roof led up to a massive pair of wooden doors. Furihata had never seen anything like it before, definitely not in person. The whole place looked like something out of a movie.

Or maybe a fairy tale…

Furihata followed Akashi to the side of the house, onto a gravel-covered path that curved around the building. Akashi was asking about his train ride, and how the walk went. Furihata did his best to answer normally, to not seem too distracted. But he kept sneaking glances at the house, and Yukimaru.

(He kind of just wanted to blurt out, “I’m not sure I remember all that stuff, because I’m pretty sure none of this is happening in real life, and also I’m walking around a mansion with a _horse_. Because that’s just a thing you do around here, I guess?”)

He also kept staring at his friend, without meaning to. Akashi always dressed nicely, in a kind of understated way, and his riding clothes were no exception. They were functional-looking, mostly in white and tan colors. Dust ringed the soles of his dark boots. But the shirt and pants were skillfully tailored, and they clung to the contours of Akashi’s body.

Honestly, Furihata had never realized just how _fit_ Akashi was.

Akashi was in shape, that much was already obvious. But he usually came across as kind of small and slender, next to a lot of his friends. (Furihata sure knew what that was like.) Plus he didn’t wear such tight clothes most of the time. Which could be why Furihata had never really noticed how Akashi’s build was lithe but strong, with lean muscles that moved sinuously as he walked.

Furihata could only dream of having a body like that. He could definitely see why a person who was into guys would be attracted to Akashi… Like, a lot.

No wonder so many girls ogled him. Sure, everyone stared at Akashi—but with a bunch of the girls, there was some definite longing mixed in with the usual amazement. Akashi didn’t seem to notice, especially since these girls tended to get flustered and turn away if he so much as glanced in their direction. Furihata had noticed it a lot, though.

It had even happened with Mari, that one time at the kakigori shop. Which was… weird. Even weirder because Akashi never caught on. Furihata could sort of understand, since Mari was pretty chill in general. Plus, she had a boyfriend. It wasn’t like she was trying to flirt with him or anything.

Still, watching her get all worked up over Akashi was kind of… strange.

Furihata had a crush on Mari when he was little—made extra awkward by the fact that he felt guilty, since his brother liked her too. But it never went anywhere, and she started dating other guys in middle school. Furihata was totally fine with that. They were childhood friends, with a ton of history. Even if she’d been interested, dating would have been weird. He preferred being friends with her.

Which was why Furihata couldn’t explain how watching her smile and laugh and pay so much attention to his newest friend made him feel sort of… lonely. Or something? It didn’t make sense.

Furihata was really starting to wonder about Akashi, though. He never seemed to notice any of these girls, or take an interest in girls, period. Furihata knew of at least one possible explanation for that. (He had learned a lot about that possibility over the past year or so, from certain teammates of his.)

But, the thing was… Akashi didn’t seem to notice _anyone_. Girls, guys, anybody. He paid a lot of attention to his friends, but it didn’t seem like he was into them in _that_ way. He even told Furihata once that he had never dated. If he had a crush on somebody, he was sure good at keeping it hidden.

Furihata kind of wanted to ask, if there was anyone Akashi liked. He kept chickening out, though. Somehow, with Akashi, it seemed like a silly question.

As they rounded a corner, all these thoughts flew straight out of Furihata’s head. The lawn surrounding the mansion had opened up into a garden—and it was _big_. Towering hedges circled a maze of arched trellises and sculptures. A stone fountain bubbled in the center. Furihata could even glimpse a gazebo across the way.

Roses were blooming everywhere. They studded the hedges like jewels, and draped in petaled clouds from the trellises. Furihata had never seen so many roses, in so many different colors. Roses as white as snow, and sunny yellow ones, and tiny pink ones with delicate petals that looked like cherry blossoms.

But the most common color, by far, was red. Red roses in every possible shade—and some that didn’t seem possible. From dark, deep burgundies that were almost black, to crimsons so bright it looked like the petals had caught fire. The perfume wafting from each curling blossom was so sweet it was almost dizzying.

Once again, Furihata was overwhelmed with the feeling that he had stepped into a story. An old-fashioned Western one, like the Secret Garden—or maybe more like Alice in Wonderland. He almost expected to see card-shaped men hovering beside the hedges, as they painted the roses in their queen’s favorite color.

Akashi led the way around the edge of the garden. They passed under a rose-wreathed arch, then headed toward an open stretch of lawn. A white fence stood there, bordering a large, grassy space. Akashi unlatched a gate, and moved to lead Yukimaru into the enclosure.

Yukimaru didn’t budge. He craned his muscular neck, so that he was looking back at Furihata. Furihata blinked, confused. Did Yukimaru really find him interesting for some reason? He had no clue why a horse would.

Akashi furrowed his brows, and gave Yukimaru a wry look. Yukimaru let out a sort of huff.

This was starting to feel surreal. Furihata could swear that the two of them were basically _talking_ to each other. That wasn’t supposed to happen in real life, was it? He thought horses were only supposed to be able to communicate that way with characters from books. Or Disney movies.

… And okay, the whole prince comparison was just getting bizarre now.

Furihata had thought about it before, to be honest. Akashi was so courteous and kind, and an amazing leader. So Furihata figured that his friend probably seemed like a prince, especially to the girls who admired him.

But he never guessed that Akashi might actually be like the kind of prince that belonged in a fairy tale.

It was a strange idea. Really bizarre. But then so was all of this…

Akashi tugged on the reins. (Or whatever they were called. It was just a single rein, instead of two. Rope? Leash? Furihata had no idea.) Yukimaru gave in, and the two of them stepped through the gate—but then for some reason, Akashi stopped. He hesitated, looking back at Furihata.

“Furihata-kun.” His voice was halting. “I don’t suppose you would be interested in petting him, would you? Before I let him go.”

Furihata stood frozen. He gawked up at the horse. “Oh. Uh…”

“There’s no need to force yourself, if you aren’t comfortable,” Akashi hurried to say. “But if you happen to be interested, I can rein him in better here. I’ll show you the best way to do it. He won’t hurt you.”

He shot another pointed glance at Yukimaru, as he said this last part. Yukimaru lowered his head a little. He looked doe-eyed. Totally innocent.

Furihata swallowed. It never occurred to him to ask to pet the horse. He didn’t know anything about how to act around horses, so he just assumed it was a bad idea. Plus, to be honest, he was pretty intimidated. He had always thought that getting close to such a big animal seemed like it could be nerve-wracking.

But… He also kind of wanted to try? Yukimaru was so beautiful. Furihata was seriously curious to know what that glistening coat felt like.

“Uh… well…” Suddenly he realized he didn’t want to seem afraid. Not in front of Akashi, who was obviously at ease around large animals. “Yeah, sure! I mean, as long as it’s okay with you. And him?”

Part of Furihata hoped Akashi would rethink the idea—the cowardly part of him that always hoped for an easy way out—but Akashi nodded.

“He won’t mind,” he said, in a reassuring tone. “He seems to want an introduction. It’s very kind of you, to humor him.”

Furihata managed a thin laugh. He slipped the book of fairy tales inside one of his bags. He then stepped toward the gate, trying to pretend he couldn’t feel his pulse skittering inside his throat. Akashi nodded him inside the enclosure. He was holding Yukimaru by the rope, grasping it close beside the horse’s head.

“It’s best to approach near the front,” he said, gesturing so Furihata could see. “To the side, so he can see you. Yes, like that.”

Furihata inched closer. Yukimaru loomed above him, with those large brown eyes that seemed to track every movement. Furihata glanced over at his friend. Akashi was watching Yukimaru carefully—but when he caught Furihata’s gaze, his expression grew soft, encouraging. The tightness in Furihata’s chest eased a little.

“You’re fine,” Akashi said. Furihata wondered why when Akashi said things like that, it was so easy to believe him. Maybe it was that calm voice he always had. “Here, let him smell you. Just hold out your hand.”

Furihata leaned forward, raising his palm toward Yukimaru. He stood very still, hardly daring to breathe, as Yukimaru lowered his head. The pale horse sniffed, nostrils flaring. Warm air skimmed over Furihata’s fingers.

Yukimaru lightly nudged his hand. Furihata gasped out a laugh, as a huge, soft, velvety nose brushed over his open palm. Hairs like whiskers tickled his skin.

Akashi was smiling. “You can pat his neck now, if you like. And give him scratches, like this. He enjoys it.”

He demonstrated. Furihata stepped up beside Akashi, and mimicked the motions as best he could. He patted Yukimaru over and over, feeling the thin silkiness of the coat layered over the strong neck muscles. He had never felt anything like it before.

A giddy feeling bubbled inside his chest. Somehow, he wanted to laugh again.

_This can’t be real, can it?_

He shook his head, and grinned over at Akashi. A moment later, his heart nearly jumped through his ribs, when something big prodded his shoulder. Yukimaru was craning his neck, so that he was pressing the side of his face against Furihata’s arm.

“He seems to have taken quite a liking to you,” Akashi said, brows raised.

“I don’t really get why,” Furihata said. He couldn’t stop grinning.

He turned to see Yukimaru better. But as he did, the horse shifted with him—and several things happened at once. Akashi started to scold Yukimaru, who had tugged the rope loose. Suddenly that big, soft nose was rubbing against Furihata’s bare arm, nuzzling against it. Or that was what Furihata thought, anyway. At first.

Then he saw Yukimaru was actually sniffing one of the bags that hung under his arm. The horse kept prodding the top of the bag with his nose, almost like he was trying to nudge the flaps open.

Suddenly, Furihata realized what Yukimaru was after. He backed up, without thinking. “Oh, uh, wait—”

Yukimaru followed. Furihata stumbled backward, over a divot in the grass. He crashed to the ground, hard. His bags scattered, and the book of fairy tales tumbled out, onto the cluttered pile of belongings beside his feet.

He looked up just in time to see four gangly white legs coming closer. His heart lurched. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, but he didn’t know whether he was supposed to move out of the way, or stay still, or—

“ _Yukimaru_.”

The voice was cool, but sharp. Yukimaru stopped immediately. Akashi appeared beside him, and gave a stern wave of his hand. Yukimaru shied away, trotting to the other end of the enclosure.

Akashi was standing extremely straight. Head raised, mouth firm. Against the sun, the slim lines of his profile looked as hard as stone.

A feeling of déjà vu swept over Furihata. He was reminded of all the times he had seen Akashi on a basketball court, directing his teammates, orchestrating the game with ease. Sometimes, he forgot just how imposing Akashi could be.

It was almost, well… regal.

In an instant, Akashi’s expression changed. His forehead creased with concern, as he rushed over to kneel beside Furihata. His catlike gaze flashed up and down, as he scanned Furihata’s body.

“Are you all right?” he said, in a hushed voice. He was bending over Furihata, so close that Furihata could see the long lashes that curled above his eyes. “Are you injured?”

Furihata barely managed to shake his head. His heart thumped harder and harder, as he stared at his friend. He didn’t know why, but the weirdest feeling was coming over him, all of a sudden…

Gently, Akashi clasped Furihata’s shoulders. A burst of warmth flooded into Furihata’s senses, until he could barely breathe. He had been aware of Akashi’s aura earlier—he usually was, on some level or another—when they were walking side by side. Now the fiery energy was smoldering, as it flowed directly through Akashi’s touch. Akashi was saying something, but Furihata couldn’t hear the words at all.

Something like this had happened before, on a certain day months ago in Kyoto. They were visiting a temple, when Furihata lost his balance, and Akashi caught him. It all felt so familiar. Akashi had the same worried look on his face, the same tense posture as he tried to shield him.

He was just being Akashi. Caring, concerned about a friend. But there was something else in his posture too, in the way he held out his arms on either side, and leaned in so close. Akashi wasn’t just checking on Furihata. He was…

He was _protecting_ him.

Akashi always looked out for other people. He did his best to support his friends and his teammates. Whenever he saw someone in need, he immediately wanted to help. He _rescued_ them. He did it for Furihata, all the time. But Furihata had never thought that much about it, until now.

Because it was probably the one thing that made Akashi the most like a prince.

The book was lying on the grass beside Furihata’s feet. He glanced at it, disbelieving, then back at Akashi. Somehow, now he couldn’t unsee it.

How had he never realized it before…?

The truth was, Furihata had been protected a lot, over the years. By his brother, by his mom, and even by classmates at school. Most of the time, it made him feel pretty guilty. Like a failure, for not being strong enough to do it himself.

For some reason, though, this moment felt different. It almost seemed like Akashi wasn’t doing it because he thought Furihata needed protection. More like… Like _Akashi_ needed to do it, for his own sake. Maybe even like he got a little scared, by what just happened.

But Furihata didn’t really get why that would be. Maybe it was all in his head…?

Either way, it was sure making him feel weird.

Furihata didn’t understand why, at all. But the longer he gazed at Akashi, at the caring look in those bright red eyes, the more his insides squeezed. Until his entire body was turning into one huge, confusing flutter. From the pit of his stomach to all the spaces between his ribs and straight down into his toes. To the point that he felt almost dizzy.

“Are you certain you’re all right?” Akashi said. Like he was repeating himself. He leaned closer, so their foreheads were almost touching. “You don’t feel anything hurting?”

Furihata really, really didn’t know how to answer that.

He got butterflies all the time, whenever he was anxious about school, or nervous before a match, or excited for a date. Even when he was going to see Akashi. This was something else, though. He couldn’t remember ever feeling quite like this before.

He didn’t even know _how_ he felt. Happy, maybe? The thing was, it also kind of hurt. Like this weird ache, pulsing inside him. Even weirder, he didn’t mind.

If anything, he wanted it to keep hurting.

None of this made sense. Furihata should have just felt embarrassed. It should have made him feel pathetic, that a friend had scrambled to help him, when the situation probably wasn’t that dangerous. He should’ve shrugged it off, tried to claim he could have handled it, or… Or something. He should have been doing something. Right?

Not just staring at Akashi, like the whole world had shifted beneath him.

“I—I’m okay,” he blurted. Trying to snap out of it. “Really, I’m fine. I just… just fell.”

He said this in a choked voice, then broke into laughter. He couldn’t believe he had been so clumsy _again_. This was really getting embarrassing.

“That’s all?” Akashi pursed his lips. “You seem a bit disoriented.”

Furihata’s face and neck were getting warm. He was pretty sure most of his body was blushing, at this point.

“I know. But I’m okay,” he said quickly. Because it was true—and he didn’t want Akashi to worry. “I didn’t hit my head or anything, I just tripped. Honest. Sorry, for freaking you out.”

He laughed again, a little shaky. Seriously, what was wrong with him today?

“There’s no need for you to apologize,” Akashi said. He shot a stormy look across the enclosure, at the white horse waiting beside the fence. “I’m terribly sorry about him. He’s incorrigible. I can’t understand why he came after you like that.”

“Oh… Actually, that was probably my fault,” Furihata said. He hurried to add, “I had food in there. I totally forgot about it.”

He nodded to one of the bags, that lay on the grass. The drawstring was open.

“Food?” Akashi blinked.

“Yeah…” Furihata moved to pick up the bag. When he saw the box inside it, his stomach dropped a little. One corner was smashed, and the box was upside down. “Shoot. The frosting’s probably all over the place.”

He turned over the box, carefully. Akashi looked more confused than ever.

“It’s from my mom,” Furihata explained. “She said I needed to bring you something—you know, in return for your temiyage gift? So I talked her into making this. It’s nothing fancy, just this cake she makes for people. But I had a feeling you’d like it.”

He tipped open the lid, and peeked inside. To his relief, the cake was still in one piece. It didn’t look as messed up as he expected either. Probably because it was just decorated with a layer of plain white frosting.

Meanwhile, a look of horror had dawned on Akashi’s face.

“Furihata-kun, I am so sorry,” he said. “If I had known—”

“No, no, it’s okay!” Furihata hurried to say. “I’m the one who forgot. And it’s fine.” He showed Akashi the inside of the box. “It’s more of a tastes-good cake than a looks-good one, anyway.”

He chuckled. A faintly troubled look lingered on Akashi’s face. As he studied the cake, though, his mouth inched into a smile.

“I’m sure it will taste wonderful,” he said. His warm, sincere tone made Furihata flutter from head to toe again. “I’ll be honored to try it. Thank you, for bringing it this far. Though there really was no need for you to return the gift.”

“No problem,” Furihata murmured. “It’s really nothing. Not nearly as cool as what you brought us.”

Akashi shook his head.

“Your gift is worth more, in my estimation,” he said. “Your mother’s efforts are more precious than anything I could buy.” His smile widened. “Besides, I think you are severely underestimating her cooking.”

He gazed at Furihata, with those glowing eyes, until Furihata’s heart kind of felt like a candle. A gooey, melted one.

Akashi was just so nice, Furihata thought, for what felt like for the millionth time. He was so quick to try to put other people at ease. Furihata honestly admired him. Maybe more than anyone else he’d ever met.

“Which reminds me, I need to return your boxes,” Akashi added, as he shifted onto his heels. “You and your family were far too generous with the leftovers, but I must admit they didn’t last very long.”

“I’m glad,” Furihata said eagerly. It made him happy, to think of Akashi eating his mom’s cooking again.

Akashi stood, and held out his hand. Furihata rushed to take it. A rush of warmth spread up his arm at the touch, until he felt more flushed than ever. Must be the aura, he told himself. Even though he thought he was getting used to it…

Then again, maybe Akashi was the sort of person you never completely got used to.

They gathered up Furihata’s bags together. Akashi offered to carry the cake box, and led the way toward the gate. Someone was waiting there, to Furihata’s surprise. A gray-haired man in a dark suit stood behind the fence. He had sharp features, which were fixed in a stoic expression.

“Good afternoon, Furihata-san.” The man bowed low. “It is an honor to welcome you to the Akashi estate. I sincerely apologize for our negligence in admitting you. Shall I take your bags?”

Furihata goggled at the man. He must be one of the family servants. No wonder he was wearing a formal suit, in the middle of the day in July.

But Furihata didn’t get why the man was apologizing. It wasn’t like anyone could have known he would just show up at the gate like he did.

“Oh, th-thanks.” He bowed halfway out of habit, before he realized he had no clue if he was supposed to do that. Probably not? “And I’ve got it, actually. But thanks anyway.”

There was a pause. The man’s expression remained blank. Suddenly Furihata felt like his brain was working in slow motion. Was there something else he was supposed to say or do here…?

Akashi stepped forward. “Ginhara, would you take this to the kitchen?” He held out the cake box. “See that it is served this afternoon. And inform Umagami he is to return Yukimaru to the stables at the earliest opportunity. I will be accompanying Furihata-kun inside to freshen up.”

“At once, young master,” the man said, with another bow. He took it in both of his white-gloved hands, then turned and walked briskly toward the mansion.

Furihata watched him leave, stunned. _Young master?_ He had never heard anyone use that honorific in real life that way. It was bizarre to actually hear it in person, and not on TV.

“Who was that?” he couldn’t resist asking, once the man was out of earshot.

“Ginhara is the butler and head of staff here,” Akashi said. Furihata’s mind reeled, at the idea of a house having a whole staff. But then, it _was_ a mansion.

They started walking toward the house, when a nicker sounded behind them. Yukimaru was hovering beside the closed gate. Furihata could have sworn the horse was looking right at him. Was he still hoping for the cake or something?

“The groom will be along for you in a minute,” Akashi said, sounding exasperated. For some reason, it made Furihata smile. It kind of reminded him of how he spoke around his family, in a way.

The horse nickered again, louder this time. Akashi sighed.

“Don’t mind him,” he said. “He’s after something, but I’m sure I don’t know what. In any case, he’s caused more than enough trouble.”

“It was really no big deal.” Furihata hesitated. After a moment’s thought, he took a step toward the gate.

“Furihata-kun, what are you—”

“It’s okay! Just a sec.” Furihata hurried over to the enclosure, before he could overthink it. He craned his neck to look up at Yukimaru. Carefully, he held out his hand.

Just like before, Yukimaru placed his nose in his palm. Furihata laughed, as relief eased through him.

“Thanks,” he said. “You know I wasn’t mad or anything, right?”

Yukimaru peered down at him. In that moment, Furihata got the weirdest feeling that the horse understood. He patted Yukimaru’s nose, then went to rejoin Akashi.

Akashi seemed caught in mid-step. Like he couldn’t decide whether to rush after him or not.

“Sorry about that,” Furihata said. “I should have asked if it was okay first.”

Akashi shook his head, slowly. He stared at Yukimaru. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him take that attitude toward anyone.”

Yukimaru flicked his snowy tail, then went back to trotting around the enclosure. Akashi’s face smoothed into a smile as he watched. And Furihata got the sense, in that moment, that Yukimaru’s gesture probably wasn’t about him at all. It was way more about Akashi, about Yukimaru wanting to reassure him.

After all, that was a big part of why Furihata did it, too.

They walked toward the house. Akashi was quiet, not saying much. He still seemed troubled about something. Normally, Furihata might not have noticed… Except for an uneasy feeling that hovered around Akashi, muddling that invisible aura, like the clouds over their heads.

Furihata wanted to ask what was wrong. If he should have done something different, either with Yukimaru or the butler… The words felt glued to his tongue, though.

He wished he were better at asking questions like this. He was sure that whatever it was, Akashi didn’t blame him or anything. But he would have liked to know anyway.

So Furihata tried to guess what might be bothering Akashi on his own—but the truth was, he couldn’t. It was kind of frustrating, how he couldn’t always tell what Akashi was thinking. Furihata reminded himself that he was just being greedy again. Constantly wanting to know more about his friend, when he was lucky to already know so much.

Though the more he saw what Akashi’s life at home was like, the more Furihata was starting to wonder how much he really knew…

That wasn’t the point though, Furihata thought with a frown. He just needed to trust that Akashi would tell him if something was wrong. They had promised before, that they would try to be as honest with each other as they could.

Akashi led Furihata up a few steps, onto a veranda at the back of the house. They headed toward a side door, framed by flowering vines. As they went inside, Furihata held his breath, without really meaning to… He kind of expected the whole thing to vanish, as soon as they tried to go in. After all, he never imagined Akashi’s house would be this beautiful, or this _big_. It was hard to believe a place like this existed near Tokyo—or anywhere.

Nothing vanished, though. Instead they entered a windowless room. The place was easily twice the size of Furihata’s bedroom, maybe larger. But the only things in it were walls of closet doors, some leather-upholstered benches, and shoe racks. Polished wood gleamed everywhere, from the closets to panels in the walls.

Akashi sat down on the nearest bench. “One moment, I just need to remove these.”

He began taking off one of his boots, with his long fingers. Swiftly, he unbuckled the strap at the top, then pulled open the zipper, sliding it down the length of the boot with ease.

Furihata tried not to gape too much at his friend, or his new surroundings. A mosaic of stone tile covered the floor. He couldn’t see a speck of dirt or dust anywhere.

“Is this your genkan?” he asked.

“We call it a mudroom, but it’s similar.” Akashi set aside one boot, and started on the other. “I generally come in here after I’ve been riding.”

“Oh. Right.” Furihata noticed one of the nearest racks, hung with riding helmets. A row of boots sat beneath them. “So, should I take my shoes off, or…?”

“Whatever would make you most comfortable,” Akashi said. “You’re welcome to leave them on—the floors can be a bit slick—or you can wear slippers, if you like. I usually do, around the house.”

He crossed behind Furihata to one of the closets. Furihata had to resist an urge to rub his eyes. Inside the cabinet were rows and rows of the fanciest slippers he’d ever seen. They looked more like loafer-style shoes, and were so clean they seemed brand-new. They even had thin heels.

“We keep pairs for guests at the front of the house,” Akashi was saying. “But since we’re here, you may as well borrow some of mine. I believe we’re the same size.”

He held out a pair of slippers. They were covered in blue velvet, with silvery crests embroidered above the toes.

“Oh, uh…” Furihata fumbled for words. “M-maybe I should just wear my shoes then? If that’s okay? I mean, those are so nice, and…”

He wasn’t sure how to finish that thought. He didn’t know how to explain, _“My feet are probably sweaty and I don’t want to get your amazing slippers all gross,”_ without dying of embarrassment. (He had socks on, but still.)

Akashi looked kind of troubled again. “Of course, if you prefer. But there’s really no need to hold back. I hardly ever wear this pair.”

Furihata hesitated. He remembered the time when he lent Akashi slippers at his house. At the time, he had wanted Akashi to feel like he could borrow anything from him. Even the nicest stuff he had.

“Well, um, okay?” he managed. “If you’re sure.”

Akashi nodded, handing him the slippers. Furihata took them, almost robotically. He couldn’t help picturing the old, beat-up pair he had lent Akashi. He had a weird urge to laugh.

_Seriously, is **any** of this real…?_

Akashi was taking another pair of slippers out of the closet. This new set was black, decorated with an elaborate crest of gold and red. He stepped into the slippers, with his usual quick poise.

Furihata scrambled to take off his shoes. He wasn’t surprised, when the blue slippers fit his feet perfectly. (At this point, he wouldn’t have been surprised if they had magically transformed to do it.)

“Thanks,” he made sure to say to Akashi. “They fit great.”

Akashi smiled at him. “Well then, shall we?”

He ushered Furihata to a door on the far side of the room. Beyond it stretched a long, narrow hallway. The hall was well lit, but the wood paneling made it look strangely dark. Ornate patterned rugs lined the floor.

A chill tiptoed down Furihata’s neck, as he followed Akashi closely. They passed several closed doors, and arched alcoves decorated with statues. It was almost like they were in a maze. And everything looked so elegant and old-fashioned… Furihata couldn’t decide whether it seemed more like he had travelled back in time, or to a foreign country.

The weird chill kept coming back, too. Furihata didn’t really get why. It kind of felt like something icy and prickling was crawling under his skin… Maybe because the building was cooler than he expected? A faint breeze was wafting through the air.

The house had central cooling, Furihata realized with amazement. Even though it had to be a pretty old place. He didn’t know anyone else who had air conditioning throughout their entire house like this.

They turned a corner. The hallway led into a massive room with a vaulted ceiling. Furihata blinked, barely able to process the sight before him. Expensive-looking furniture sat everywhere—sofas, chairs, tables—and the windows were hung with heavy brocade curtains. Paintings adorned every wall, along with detailed carvings that were worked into the wood. Vases as tall as him towered in the corners.

Near the middle of the room stood three women and a man. They were all in a line, perfectly still. The man wore a suit, and the women wore black dresses with white aprons. As Furihata and Akashi entered, they all bowed at once.

“Welcome, Furihata-san,” they chorused.

Furihata faltered, not sure how to respond. Suddenly he wished he knew a lot more about formal etiquette.

“Oh, uh, thanks?” he said. Well, more like squeaked. He was pretty sure that two of the women exchanged a look, for a second. (He wasn’t sure if it was because of the squeaking, or the fact that he had said something in the first place.)

The man stepped forward. “Would you allow me to take your bags, Furihata-san? Your room is ready to receive you.”

Furihata’s thoughts spun. He had a room? “Uh, well—I mean, I’m good with the bags, but—”

He honestly had no idea where he was going with this. The man was starting to look kind of confused. Furihata glanced at Akashi, hoping for some kind of clue about what to do here.

Akashi’s catlike eyes were darting back and forth. A visible crease was forming between his brows, as he looked from the servants to Furihata, and back again.

“I will change,” he said. “Takeda, show Furihata-kun where he can freshen up. Then bring him to my room afterward.”

Furihata frowned. Akashi really did look uncomfortable. To the point that even if he couldn’t sense Akashi’s aura, Furihata would still have noticed. Which was weird. Akashi was normally so straight-faced.

Something else was weird, too. Whenever Akashi spoke to his servants, he didn’t sound like himself. Akashi had said once, that he wasn’t allowed to be friendly with the servants in his house. So Furihata had expected him to be formal—but this was more than that. Akashi’s voice sounded flat, and stiff. Like he was trying to be extra conscious of what he was saying. It wasn’t the warm way he usually talked.

And for some reason, it really bothered Furihata.

The man in the suit didn’t seem to find it strange at all, though. He bowed his head. “Of course, young master. Furihata-san, please allow me to show you to the powder room.”

_Powder room?_ The words almost slipped out of Furihata’s mouth, but he swallowed them back just in time. He thought he had read that phrase in a book before. But he couldn’t remember exactly what it was.

“Y-yeah, sure,” he said. The man gestured cordially toward the front of the house. Furihata followed, shooting one more look back at Akashi. Akashi gave him a smile—but it looked strained, smaller than usual. Worried.

A knot formed in Furihata’s throat. He tried to ignore it, to focus on where he was going. The man led him through a wide entryway, and into another vaulted room. Just like the previous one, it was big, and open.

A pair of carved doors dominated the space. Furihata realized they were the house’s front entrance. Two staircases stretched out on either side, as they wound up to the second floor. The mahogany banisters were so polished they practically glowed. A maze of carvings decorated the high ceiling, and a glittering chandelier of crystal hung directly over Furihata’s head.

The place really was like a castle.

Furihata wasn’t sure how long he stared. But at some point he realized he had stopped walking. On the far side of the room, the man in the suit stood motionless, waiting for him. Furihata flushed, and scurried across the room. The man never said anything, though, or even gave him so much as an odd look.

They reached a door, to the side of the front hall. The man opened it, revealing what looked like a small bathroom.

“May I hold your bags for you, sir, while you’re inside?” he said, holding out his hand.

Furihata wasn’t sure what was weirder—being called ‘sir,’ or the faint note of urgency in the man’s voice. Like he really, _really_ wanted to hold the bags. Was it part of his job, not to let guests carry their own stuff? Furihata wasn’t sure why that was necessary. It would explain why the man kept asking, though.

… Come to think of it, the people who worked at stores and inns and restaurants weren’t much different. They were supposed to do certain things, as a part of good customer service. And the customers were supposed to let them. Furihata wasn’t a customer here, but he _was_ a guest.

He winced. Was he making everyone uncomfortable, without meaning to?

“Sure,” he said, hurriedly pulling the two bags from his shoulder. He handed them to the man with a weak smile. “Thanks.”

“Of course, sir,” the man said, and Furihata could have sworn he sounded a lot more relaxed now. “Please, take all the time you wish.”

Furihata ducked into the room, and closed the door behind him. He let out a long, shaky breath. He looked around, trying to get his bearings.

Apparently, a powder room was a super fancy bathroom. A gilt-framed mirror hung above a sink with a scalloped basin. The marble countertop shimmered in the light of gilded sconces.

Furihata lurched up to the counter. He braced his hands against the cool marble, and took a few more deep breaths.

He really did feel like he was dreaming. Everything about this day just kept getting more and more surreal. Like he had drifted away from reality at some point, without even noticing. And now he couldn’t figure out how to wake up.

_Jeez… What’s wrong with me?_

In the mirror, Furihata’s reflection gaped back at him. He looked a little out of it, but mostly normal. He rubbed a palm against his flushed face. His skin felt solid, warm. He touched the edge of the glistening mirror. It was solid too, cool against his fingertips.

Furihata let out a quaking sigh. _I need to get a grip._

He was in over his head, way more than he expected. He knew Akashi’s house would be big, and beautiful, and have servants. And he thought he was prepared for all of that, but…

He wasn’t prepared for _this_. For this perfect mansion, with its mazelike halls and towering staircases. Akashi actually lived here. The thought was dizzying. Unreal.

It was straight out of Furihata’s daydreams, from when he was a kid. All those times he wished he could step into a fairy tale, journey to some fantastical place… Maybe his brain was just playing a weird trick on him. Making all his old daydreams come to life.

Except… it wasn’t. Because this was Akashi’s real-life house. Wasn’t it?

Furihata shook his head, hard, as his stomach curled into a knot. He didn’t know why he kept thinking about all this dumb make-believe stuff. He was supposed to be hanging out with Akashi. Not letting his imagination run away with him.

He was handling this all wrong. He should have just gone along with what the servants asked. And said yes, the first time Akashi offered his slippers. And not spaced out a bunch of times.

Meanwhile, something was definitely bothering Akashi. He seemed so tense. Furihata was hoping he had imagined Akashi’s discomfort when he invited him over. Or that at the very least, Akashi would feel better by the time Furihata got there, and they settled into their usual friendly rhythm. But that hadn’t happened.

And Furihata had a sinking feeling he knew why.

He grimaced at his reflection. He remembered how he had felt, when Akashi came to visit him. He was excited, but nervous too. Nervous about a lot of things, like what Akashi would think of his home and his family.

Which was why he had told himself over and over, not to act weird about Akashi’s house. No matter how amazing or impressive it turned out to be. He had reminded himself not to say any rude stuff like, “Wow, your house is so big!” or “You must be so rich!” or “I don’t know anyone else who has a place like this!”

Furihata hadn’t said anything rude yet. (He hoped?) But he knew he had been staring way too much. He kept acting awkward and tongue-tied, for no reason, and spacing out. There was no way someone as sharp-eyed as Akashi didn’t notice. And it probably didn’t look good.

Furihata clasped his forehead. Now the snappy, critical voice inside his brain was starting to lecture him, as usual.

_Don’t you get it? You’re acting like all of this is weird or something! Your house was probably really strange to Akashi, and he never made you feel awkward about it, not even once. He just acted normal, and nice._

_You haven’t acted normal since you got here. You’re probably really hurting his feelings. Or he’s worried you think he’s weird now._

_Oh yeah, and you were staring at him. **Staring** at **him**. Why were you even doing that? You’ve known him for months. You’re friends._

_Seriously, what in the heck is wrong with you?_

Furihata slumped against the counter. He already knew Akashi was hesitant to invite him over. So he promised himself, a bunch of times, that he wouldn’t give his amazing friend any reason to regret it.

Now it was starting to look like he already had. And all because he was too busy daydreaming about stuff that didn’t make any sense.

But how was he supposed to explain that to Akashi? That none of this was Akashi’s fault, and he was the one being weird…?

Furihata clutched the edge of the countertop. He sucked a breath through his teeth, and his eyes narrowed, as he glared at himself. He just needed to act normal. To stop spacing out, and focus on having a good time with Akashi. Like they always did. After all, nothing had changed between them.

He sure hoped not, anyway. He didn’t want that.

_So just be normal, stupid!_

He wiped his brow. He was starting to sweat again—and his face felt sticky, from being outside earlier. Two baskets sat nearby on the counter. One was filled with snow-white hand towels. The other was filled with little packets of toiletries. Like the kind for guests at a fancy hotel.

At the front were some silver packages labeled ‘Body Paper.’ Furihata recognized them right away. His dad used them sometimes in the summer, to keep from sweating too much in his work suit. Furihata had never seen them in a guest bathroom like this, though. He picked one of the packages that read ‘Ice Type,’ and tore it open.

He rubbed the damp paper across his face, and sighed with relief. He quickly wiped across his arms, and dabbed under his shirt. Soon his skin was tingling from the cooling effect. It helped clear his head.

He eyed the baskets, confused. Akashi had said something about how his house didn’t have guests very often. They sure seemed prepared for them, though.

Not that it was his business, Furihata reminded himself. He threw the paper and the empty package in the wastebasket. He counted out a few more breaths, then turned and opened the door.

The manservant was waiting outside, just as Furihata had left him. “Are you ready to rejoin the young master, sir?” When Furihata nodded, he said, “This way, please.”

The manservant motioned to the nearest staircase, then began gliding up the rug-covered steps. He was still carrying Furihata’s bags. (Which was probably a good thing, actually… Furihata was clumsy enough on stairs as it was.)

Halfway up the staircase, they reached a small landing with a stained glass window. Furihata paused to study the colored panes, which were arranged in an intricate geometric design. When he realized what he was doing, he flinched and hurried past.

_No more staring! Just be normal, be normal…_

They reached the second floor. The floorboards creaked beneath their feet, an old, worn sound. The man led Furihata through another hallway. It was darker up here—no windows, only lights in sconces. Chills sprinted down Furihata’s arms. He was surprised the air conditioning was affecting him this much. But it was probably a lingering effect from the body paper. Not that he was complaining, after the heat outside.

They reached an open door. The man stopped beside it.

“These are the young master’s rooms.” He gestured to a door across the way. “And your room for the evening will be here. I will leave your bags inside, if that would be acceptable.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Furihata tried not to think too hard about the unexpected plural of ‘rooms’ in that first sentence. Suddenly he remembered something. “Oh, uh… Could I just have the book in there first?”

He pointed to one of his bags. The man rummaged inside it for a moment, before holding out the book of fairy tales. Furihata murmured a thank-you, as he clutched the book to his chest. The man gave one final bow, and Furihata ducked his head as he passed through the open door.

Now it was harder than ever not to stare. The room was furnished just like a Victorian study. An old-fashioned desk sat against a wall, crowded with books and papers. Nearby, a cluster of chairs sat around a low table. The chairs all had large, overstuffed backs that curved into winged shapes.

A violin case sat on the table. Furihata’s eyes widened. Did Akashi play the violin? He had no idea.

He touched one of the chair backs, entranced. The velvet was soft and plush beneath his hand. A familiar urge gripped him, to just start wandering around and looking at everything… He gulped, and forced himself to stay put.

The room had plenty of furniture, but no bed. So maybe this was just Akashi’s study room or something? Another door stood open over on the side wall. Furihata set the borrowed book down on the table, then inched over to the doorway, to peek inside. Just to see if Akashi was in there, he told himself.

His breath hitched in his chest. The neighboring room had a massive bed in it. The bed had four carved wooden posts, and a big canopy with red curtains. Furihata had always wondered what it would be like, to have a bed like that…

He tore his eyes away, and scanned the rest of the room. Light shone behind a half-closed door on the other end. A closet, maybe? A faint rustle came from inside.

“Uh, Akashi-kun?” Furihata’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “I’m here.”

“Just a moment,” Akashi’s voice said. He sounded a little muffled, but normal.

Furihata retreated back into the other room, to wait. He tried not to look around too much. But his eyes kept wandering, as he found new amazing things. From the oil paintings of landscapes on the walls, to the scrolled patterns in the wallpaper, and even the antique lamp on the desk. Everything looked so refined, and grown-up.

It was all a lot like Akashi, actually.

Furihata focused on the books on the desk, on skimming the titles on the spines—but no, that seemed kind of rude too. So he let his eyes go back to wandering. They stopped on something he hadn’t noticed, until now.

Near the wingback chairs stood a fireplace. A line of photographs sat in an orderly row on the mantle. They were nicely framed, but too small to see clearly from where he stood. Curiosity crept over Furihata. Without thinking, he took a few steps closer.

Most of the pictures showed a little boy with bright red hair. Furihata wasn’t close enough to see the boy’s face, but he could easily guess who it must be. In the nearest frame, the little boy was walking between two adults. On the right was a man in a suit. And on the left stood a woman in a wide-brimmed hat.

Furihata barely had time to think about how the man looked familiar, how he had probably seen him in a newspaper article recently, when he glanced back at the woman…

He froze, and his spine turned to ice.

She had a slender, graceful silhouette. Her auburn hair fell softly over her shoulders, and her small, rosebud-shaped mouth formed a gentle smile. The rest of her face was hidden. Even so, Furihata knew he had seen her before.

_“Try not to be afraid.”_

She looked just like the woman from his dream.

Furihata’s eyes darted to the next photo. There she was again, holding the red-haired boy in her arms. She was in the next one too. She was in all of them.

Finally, Furihata remembered why the woman in the dream looked so familiar. It was because he had dreamt about her before…

Two months ago, when he and Akashi still barely knew each other, he had a really eerie dream about searching for Akashi all over Kyoto. At one point in it, Furihata talked to his mom, who was sitting across from a petite woman with auburn hair. He’d never seen the woman before in his life. But for some reason, his dreaming brain pretended she was Akashi’s mother.

It _had_ to be pretend. Because at that point, Furihata had never seen any pictures of Akashi’s mother. Or even asked Akashi what she looked like…

And yet the woman in these photos looked just like the stranger from his dreams. An elegantly dressed woman, smiling tenderly, as she posed over and over with Akashi as a little boy. Holding his tiny hand, cradling him close to her chest.

Furihata shook his head. He still couldn’t see her face all that well, he told himself. The woman in his dreams had always been hazy, but if he came closer, if he really studied these photographs… He was sure the woman in them would look different from the one he dreamed about.

She had to. Right? Or else he was remembering the dreams wrong…

Footsteps sounded, and Furihata gave a start. Akashi had appeared in the doorway, wearing casual clothes. He looked normal, like he always did when they hung out. Furihata’s shoulders relaxed, and air rushed into his lungs. He didn’t even realize he had stopped breathing.

“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,” Akashi said. Even the sound of his voice was familiar, soothing. Pulling Furihata back to reality. “I meant to change earlier. But I have to admit that your arrival caught me by surprise.”

Furihata managed to return his smile. “Uh, I surprised _you_?”

Akashi chuckled, but his expression looked a little uneasy. “I suppose it was mutual. I hope none of the surprises on your end have been too unpleasant.”

“No! No way,” Furihata said, trying really hard not to think about the one he just had. Akashi was frowning now, so he rushed to change the subject. “I didn’t know I was going to get my own room and stuff.”

“Yes. I hope that’s all right.” Akashi approached Furihata’s place beside the chairs. “It seemed like it would be the most convenient arrangement later on, all things considered.”

“Yeah, of course,” Furihata chirped, even though he wasn’t actually sure what Akashi meant by that. “Your room is really nice, by the way.”

He smiled wider at Akashi. That was an okay thing to say to a friend, wasn’t it? An ordinary compliment. _Just be normal…_

“Or, uh, rooms, I guess?” he added in a hurry, as he glanced around. “Since there’s your bedroom and… Is this called a sitting room? Or a study?” He squeaked out a laugh. “That’s probably wrong. I mean, I’ve never met anyone who has—”

He stiffened. _Oh no._ How had he managed to blurt out one of the exact things he had told himself not to say? Akashi’s frown was deepening now. Furihata scrambled to fix it.

“Uh, I mean—not that it’s weird!” The words fumbled on his tongue. “Or anything’s wrong with having a…. you know. A whatever?” He cringed. That sounded like he secretly thought the opposite. “O-obviously. I mean…”

His voice faded. Akashi looked really uncomfortable, more so than Furihata had seen in a long time. His brows were pinched together, his jaw tense. The energy around him was all wrong. Kind of sick and dull. He almost seemed like he was bracing himself.

Like he had been waiting for this.

“Oh, god,” Furihata said in a tiny voice. “I’m so sorry.”

He pressed a hand to his brow, and steadied himself against the nearest chair.

“Furihata-kun?” Akashi sounded concerned. “Are you all right?”

Akashi’s velvet slippers hovered in Furihata’s peripheral vision. Furihata’s chest gave a pang. Akashi was doing it again. Like he always did. Worrying all about him, when Furihata was the one who was messing up, and making Akashi feel bad…

“I’m fine,” he said weakly. He wished he could take it all back, but it was too late. “I—I keep trying so hard not to say anything, but… I know it must show all over my face, everything does because I suck, basically, and… I mean, I really don’t want to offend you, or hurt your feelings! It’s just…”

He raised his head, meeting Akashi’s gaze.

“Your house is so **cool** ,” he blurted. Followed by a groan. “I’m sorry! It’s just the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Akashi’s catlike eyes widened. Furihata clenched his hands into fists, as frustration rushed over him. He wasn’t supposed to say any of this. But the words were already spilling out, way too fast.

“B-but I know it’s really awkward to go on about it, and rude! And I don’t want to make you feel bad or weird or anything, it’s just not what I’m used to, and—”

He wanted so badly to stop talking. But if he tried to shut up, Akashi might think the worst about what he already said. And if he kept talking, their day together might be ruined, and… Furihata didn’t know what to do. At all.

Which, for some reason, just made his dumb mouth keep moving.

“—And I know you weren’t sure about me coming here in the first place and it’s all my fault and I feel really awful… Especially when I was a jerk before and pressured you about it! I really wanted to hang out with you, but we could have done that anywhere.”

He hung his head. The rug beneath him was a whirl of patterns, of cream and emerald and scarlet.

“It’s just… I used to daydream about places like this,” he admitted, finally. “I mean you have that amazing garden out there, and those cool staircases, and to be honest I still don’t really know what a powder room even _is_ , and these slippers are so nice, and…”

He stared down at his feet, overwhelmed. The fireplace stood beside him. It was perfect too, he realized, with something almost like dismay. The front was made of pearly, polished marble, and the metal grate on the brick hearth formed a series of fluted bars.

“You even have a fireplace,” he stammered. “A fireplace. In your room!”

He gestured to it. Or he tried to, at least. At this point he was sort of just flapping his arms around.

“I never knew anybody who had one,” he said, still babbling. He took a step toward it, then backed away again uncertainly. “But—but they’re in so many books and I always thought they were cool because I’m a huge nerd, but this one is way nicer than anything I pictured and you’re probably thinking it’s a heat source and like who cares? But it’s just—I mean—I need to shut up now.”

He slumped over, until his forehead was resting on the back of one of the chairs. He was totally out of breath, and his ears burned.

What the heck was all of _that_ about? He had said way too much. He wasn’t being normal at all, not even close, and now everything was going to be awkward for sure, and Akashi must be wishing he hadn’t invited him over…

There was a weird sound, kind of like a snort. Furihata raised his head. Akashi had a hand pressed to his mouth. The corners of his lips were quivering.

“I—I’m sorry.” Akashi shook his head. His voice was tight. “Forgive me. This is just—I never thought—” He choked back a laugh. “You keep looking at that fireplace like it’s somehow betrayed you.”

Laughter burst from between his fingers. Furihata felt a rush of relief at the bright, pleasant sound. His mouth twitched, from a weird blend of embarrassment and happiness.

Honestly, he had never been so glad to accidentally make someone laugh.

“W-well, it did!” he exclaimed. His face felt like it was on fire. “By being awesome.”

“Truly, an unforgivable crime,” Akashi said, in between muffled snorts.

“It is, okay?” Furihata whined. He glared at the fireplace, in an accusing sort of way. “It even has a chimney. Jerk.”

He kicked lightly at the grate, but missed the bars. (Probably for the best. Seriously, what was he even doing?) Which just made Akashi laugh even more.

“Furihata-kun,” he gasped out, reaching for a chair. “All fireplaces have chimneys. And you are severely hindering my ability to breathe.”

“I know that!” Furihata protested. “But—but I’ve never really had the chance to look up one before. You know?”

He hesitated for a second, then decided to just go for it. He set the book of fairy tales on a table and scurried over to the hearth. Bending over, he stuck his head inside the fireplace. The neatly mortared bricks continued up a long, dark shaft. It was so long he couldn’t see the end of it.

“It’s so clean,” he muttered, fascinated. “Do people sweep up here and everything? Like in Mary Poppins?” He could hear Akashi still chortling behind him. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”

He popped back out again. He gave Akashi a sheepish look, as he stepped back from the hearth.

“Sorry. Really.” He sucked in a breath, and twined his fingers together. “I’m being awful. My mom would have killed me like three separate times by now.”

Akashi’s eyes were narrowed, shimmering with humor.

“I admire your mother a great deal.” He gave Furihata a fond smile. “But you are far from awful.”

Furihata’s heart fluttered. He had to admit, he was pretty confused. Akashi was being so nice, even though he had been so rude. (Not to mention a giant dork.) Which, come to think of it, wasn’t surprising at all.

But Akashi really wasn’t offended or hurt…?

Akashi came closer, and clasped Furihata’s shoulder.

“It was very kind of you, to worry so much about my feelings,” he said. “I _was_ concerned, that you would find all of this odd. But I’m glad you like the house. I don’t mind if you say so.”

His voice was so sincere. The soft, soothing sound of it made Furihata’s insides glow with warmth, like always. In that moment, everything finally felt normal again. Just like it always did between them.

Everything was fine. It really was.

Sometimes it still amazed Furihata, how the two of them could just be themselves with each other, no matter how weird or awkward it got. And everything would be okay.

They were friends. Nothing was going to change that.

Akashi lowered his hand. A look of anxiety surfaced on his face, the one from earlier.

“I’m fully aware that this is out of the ordinary, as houses go,” he said. “I was just concerned it would make you uncomfortable in some way. I… I know it’s not like your home. It’s far from the most inviting place.”

Furihata felt like a light bulb had switched on above him.

“Oh,” he said. “Is that what you were so worried about?”

Of course it was, he realized. Akashi always worried about his friends’ comfort more than his own feelings. Apparently, he considered his home a less than friendly place. No wonder he felt guilty for inviting Furihata over.

The whole thing was so Akashi. Furihata should have known.

It was kind of strange, though… Akashi’s house didn’t seem like a bad place. It was fancy and formal, but that wasn’t _bad_. Furihata wondered when Akashi had started thinking of his own home that way. Or was he just worried because Furihata panicked so easily in general…?

Furihata resisted the urge to sigh. That was probably fair. Sometimes he really hated his anxiety problems.

On an impulse, he reached out and took Akashi’s hand. Another burst of warmth radiated through his veins—from Akashi’s palm, and that strange, invisible aura. Somehow the feeling made it even easier, for Furihata to say what he wanted to say.

“You don’t need to worry,” he said. “Really. I know I’m kind of a wimp, but your house seems nice. I guess it _is_ kind of intimidating, in a way? But amazing stuff always intimidates me at first.”

_Like you,_ he was about to point out, but he thought better of it. Furihata didn’t want Akashi to remember how they both used to worry so much about that.

And maybe that was a part of it too, Furihata thought. Maybe Akashi was worried that Furihata would find his house so intimidating, that he would go back to seeing him as an intimidating person. Even though there was no way that would happen.

Was that maybe why Akashi was so reluctant? Even though Furihata had made it so obvious he wanted to be here?

Furihata leaned in closer, holding Akashi’s gaze. Wanting him to understand.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he insisted. “Seriously. Your house feels welcoming to me.” He squeezed Akashi’s hand. “Especially with you in it.”

He said the last part with extra warmth. Trying to be reassuring, the way Akashi always did for him. At last the tension in Akashi’s features smoothed away, and he smiled. Happiness fizzed inside Furihata’s chest at the sight.

“I’m glad you think so,” Akashi said. He almost sounded flattered. He hesitated, adding quietly, “I know the staff must seem rather insistent, about certain things. I hope it isn’t too awkward. It’s just a part of their training.”

Furihata nodded. “That makes sense. And it doesn’t bother me. They seem really great at their jobs. Sorry if I was weird about it before.”

He released Akashi’s hand, a little reluctantly. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly got the urge to invade his friend’s personal space like that…

“You were fine,” Akashi said, with a soft look. “I just wasn’t altogether sure how to handle the situation.”

His eyes flicked to the side, and he adjusted his shirt collar. He was fidgeting, Furihata realized, stunned. An incredibly un-Akashi thing to do.

“What, really?” was all Furihata said out loud. The idea of Akashi being genuinely undecided about something was hard to imagine. “Well, I guess that made two of us.”

They exchanged another smile. Akashi seemed a lot calmer now. Still, Furihata wondered if he really understood he had nothing to worry about.

_I’m happy to be here, you know. This is where I want to be. More than anything…_

_Because you’re here._

Furihata couldn’t decide if he should actually say this out loud or not. It sounded pretty weird. But maybe Akashi wouldn’t mind hearing it anyway… While he was hesitating, he suddenly remembered the book on the end table.

“Oh, uh—I brought this?” He picked up the book of fairy tales. “I figured it was a good time to give it back to you.”

Akashi took the offered book, with his usual care.

“You finished it, then?” he said. Furihata gave a nod. “You could keep it longer, if you like. There’s no rush to return it.”

“Thanks, but I already read it a couple of times,” Furihata replied, a little sheepish. Not that he had any real reason to be embarrassed. Akashi already knew about his fairy tale habit. “It was really good. Thanks again.”

“Of course,” Akashi said, in his genuine way. “I’m very glad you enjoyed it.”

His smile widened, and Furihata’s did the same. The golden lettering on the book’s cover glistened. Seeing the book in Akashi’s hands reminded Furihata of what was inside those pages—and what wasn’t.

Akashi was like a prince, in a lot of ways. But he wasn’t really from a fairy tale. He was Furihata’s friend. His kind, understanding friend who cared so much about other people. That was what was important—and what made him amazing. Furihata never wanted to lose sight of that.

He was just so glad they’d met. Their friendship was a million times better than some storybook daydream. Because it was real.

“I should return this to its proper place,” Akashi said, in a thoughtful voice. “Would you like to come along? You seem to have an interest in the house—and it is one of the better rooms, in my opinion.”

He brandished the worn leather book, in a hinting sort of way. Furihata frowned, not quite following.

“Better rooms?” he repeated. Then the realization hit him. “Wait, do you have a—”

_Oh my god._

His mouth popped open. Akashi’s smile had turned faintly sly. Like it always did, when he was enjoying one of Furihata’s reactions.

Furihata couldn’t hold back a rush of excitement. But then the memory of his earlier rant filled his mind—fireplaces, seriously?—and he felt a flush spread over his skin.

“O-on second thought, maybe I shouldn’t,” he stammered. “I’m not sure I’d be able to handle it?”

He said it more as a warning than anything else: _“I will probably act super weird, and you can’t blame me if I do.”_ Which was exactly how Akashi seemed to interpret it. The spark in his eyes brightened, and he took Furihata by the hand.

“Well, in that case, I really must insist,” he said, gently leading him toward the door.

Furihata couldn’t hold back a whimper. If this room was what he thought it was, he was so screwed.

Not really though, he reminded himself, grinning a little. He didn’t have to worry about being impressed by Akashi’s house after all. He had been painfully honest about it, and like always, everything had turned out fine. Because Akashi was amazing that way.

Furihata’s dumb brain was just freaking out over nothing. Sure, sometimes he and Akashi got stuck inside their own heads and kind of misread each other, but that was okay. Because they thought the best of each other. Even the misunderstandings only happened because they cared.

It was why Furihata trusted Akashi so completely. Maybe more than any other friend he had. The same way he trusted his family.

He just had to stop overthinking, and be himself. And everything would be great. Nothing bad or weird was going to happen.

It was all in his head. Nothing more.

As they left, Furihata glanced over his shoulder again. Taking in Akashi’s front room, from the polished floorboards to the richly colored curtains. The photographs still sat above the fireplace, in a precisely spaced row. Their glass covers gleamed in the light, concealing the images beneath. Images of a little boy Furihata knew—and a woman he definitely didn’t.

There was just no way he could have seen her before.

Furihata’s spine tingled, and he quickly looked away.

Yeah, it was definitely all in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much again for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, and as always, I really appreciate any comments you might want to share. It means a lot to me, and it’s always a privilege to hear from you. <3 (Even when I’m not always able to give the thoughtful replies you all deserve. OTL)
> 
> I do have a few extra notes this time, mostly about some choices I made about Akashi’s house (did you know the one in anime canon really exists?!) and a few bits and pieces about cultural stuff. As always, they can be found [over here on my Tumblr](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/post/169719391392/notes-for-storming-the-castle-chapter-7).


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